Tropes - Arwen
by sneetchstar
Summary: Collection of one-shots based on fanfiction tropes or cliches. Ratings vary by chapter.
1. Only One Bed

"I'm sorry, sir, I've just got the one room left," the innkeeper says, looking contrite as the handsome traveler scowls, frustrated.

"The next closest inn is how far away?" Arthur asks.

"Next town over. Several hours' ride through pitch-black forest at this time of night, sir." The burly innkeeper studies this man, wondering what it is about him that compels him to keep calling him "sir". He chalks it up to the fact that the man is well-dressed and fairly clean.

Arthur sighs. "Fine. I'll take the room. I'd like two dinners within the hour, and I do hope your patrons aren't loud or rowdy," he says.

The innkeeper frowns slightly and says, "I'm sorry, sir, it's awfully late for dinner..."

Arthur places several coins on the bar and waits, looking the other man in the eye.

"Within the hour, sir," the innkeeper relents, removing the coins so swiftly Arthur doesn't even see his hand move. "I'll show you to your room," the large man says, starting to amble out from behind the bar.

"Just direct me; I'll find it," Arthur replies, holding his hand up.

"Last door on the left, sir."

"Thank you," Arthur shortly answers, turns, and walks out. He returns a few minutes later, followed by a young boy. The boy's head is bowed and he carries a large satchel on his shoulders.

As soon as they are through the main room of the inn, Arthur takes the bag and carries it himself the rest of the way.

"Sorry," he softly apologizes.

"It's all right," Guinevere answers. "It was necessary to keep up appearances."

He smiles and opens the door. He had explained the situation to her outside, and they both agreed that if they were to share a room, it would be best if she appeared to be his servant. Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, did not travel all this way to return his Guinevere to her home to have her do so scandalized.

She had gone missing three days ago, stolen from the streets in the dead of night, in an attempt to draw her mistress out of hiding. Unfortunately, the bandits who wished to find Lady Morgana (in order to return her to King Uther for reward money) overestimated the former ward's affection for her maidservant and underestimated the prince's ability to singlehandedly defeat three men at once. They also had no idea that the prince values the maid's life far more than the ward does. Not that they'll be telling anyone now.

Guinevere reaches for the hat hiding her long curls as soon as the door is closed. "Wait," Arthur says, stopping her. "The innkeeper will be arriving with our dinners at some point."

"Oh. Right," Guinevere replies, rubbing her head before dropping her hand. "It itches a bit."

"Sorry. You look quite fetching though," he says, smiling. He steps over and indulges himself in one small kiss. "I'm so glad you're safe," he whispers, tucking an escaped curl into her hat. "When I heard you had disappeared, I..."

"Shh," she says, cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. "I know, Arthur. I'm safe now, thanks to you."

"I will always keep you safe," he answers, leaning to kiss her again.

"You cannot promise that," she softly argues.

"I can and I will," he returns, stubborn as always.

She offers a small smile, not wishing to argue the point. She simply appreciates his efforts for her and his sweetness towards her. "I am the only person who sees this side of you," she says, looping her hands behind his neck.

"That is by design," he answers. "What would Merlin think if I suddenly started being... _nice_ to him?"

She giggles. "He'd think you'd gone daft," she replies. "And you are nice to him, sometimes. I've seen it. Usually it's when you think no one is looking."

_Or when we think we are about to die._ He doesn't speak the thought, not wishing to upset her. "You are always watching," he says, smiling. "That is what makes you so wise, Guinevere."

"Not wise enough to avoid being kidnapped. Again," she laments, her face falling. "I—"

There is a knock at the door. Guinevere practically leaps out of Arthur's arms and busies herself in the corner with their bags, facing away from the door.

Arthur goes to the door.

"Dinner, sir," the innkeeper says, trying to peer over Arthur's shoulder without being too obvious about it. Arthur doesn't budge an inch.

"Thank you," he answers, taking the tray from the man. "I'll set this outside the door when we are finished."

"You dine with your servant?" the innkeeper asks.

"The boy _does_ need to eat," Arthur haughtily answers, closing the door on the man.

"You weren't very nice to him," Guinevere quietly comments.

"It was an impertinent question. Besides, I've given him enough coin that he will look past anything I say or do," he replies, setting the tray on the small table. He sits, and his shoulders sag. "You are right," he sighs. "Of course you are right. I'm just... still on edge. This would have been simpler if you had your own room." He inwardly cringes at how that may have sounded to her, and hastily adds, "Not that I don't enjoy your company, or... well, under different circumstances..." _like if we were married_, "...I would be happy to share a cozy room in an inn with you. It's just... so much more complicated this way." He gestures towards one of the chairs.

"I understand, Arthur," she says, coming to the table. She removed the hat as soon as the innkeeper left and now looks much more like herself. "He probably thinks we have one of those master-servant relationships that are only ever whispered about..."

"I don't really care what he thinks of me. He doesn't know who I am, and there is no one he can tell that will have any effect on my reputation," he says, pouring some wine into the goblets. "Even so, I wouldn't care." He doesn't add that the main source of his unease is thinking about the one bed in the room.

xXx

"I'll just... sleep on the floor," Arthur says some time later, grabbing a pillow from the bed.

"Y-you do not need to," Guinevere quietly says. "I trust you."

"I know you trust me, Guinevere," he replies, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "It simply would not be proper." _The problem is I am not certain I trust myself._

"Then let me sleep on the floor," she offers, knowing he will say, "No".

"You are _not_ sleeping on the floor."

"You are the prince."

"You are a lady."

"I am not a Lady, I am a servant."

They stare at one another for a long moment.

"You are so much more than a servant to me, Guinevere. _That _is why you will sleep in the bed and I will sleep on the floor," Arthur quietly says. "Please don't make me order you. I abhor giving you orders," he adds, his voice even softer.

"Very well," she says. "Goodnight, Arthur." She turns to go to the bed.

"Guinevere," he stops her, his hand on her arm. "Do not be upset with me, please."

"I'm not upset, I promise you. I am simply very tired. I'm sorry I argued with you," she replies, head slightly bowed.

"You never need to apologize for challenging me, Guinevere," he softly says as he lifts her chin and softly kisses her lips. Then, he kisses them again, and yet again, until he wraps his arms around her once more, lost.

He remembers himself soon enough, and pulls away, dropping his forehead against hers. "That is _also_ why I will sleep on the floor," he whispers. Then, he is gone, pillow in hand, as he walks to the only spot in the room with a large enough spot for him to stretch out.

Guinevere follows with a blanket from the bed. "Here."

"You need that," he answers, not taking the offered item.

"There are more on the bed, and you are far away from the fire," she insists, dropping it over him. "Goodnight, Arthur," she repeats, her voice gentler than the first time.

"Goodnight, Guinevere." He listens as she pads over to the bed and climbs in. He hears her soft sigh as she settles into the covers, pictures her sweet face resting on the pillow. "This reminds me of the time I stayed at your house."

"Except that time, you _did_ have the bed," she answers, smiling.

"I still feel badly about that," he admits.

"I forgave you a long time ago," she reassures.

"Thank you."

They fall silent, listening to the crackle of the fire and the muffled sounds from the tavern. Arthur thinks he hears Guinevere's breathing slow and even out as she drifts to sleep. He thinks he hears an owl. He thinks he hears the innkeeper telling the patrons about the strange noble who dines – and does only the gods know what else – with his serving boy. He knows he still doesn't care about the innkeeper's opinion.

He also knows that the floor is very hard and he is getting very cold. Sleeping on a stone floor is quite different than sleeping on the ground. He shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot, but unforgiving stone grinds against his hipbone. He tries his back, which is no good, because he's never been able to sleep on his back.

"Just come up here, Arthur," Guinevere finally says. "I can hear your discomfort. This bed is plenty large, and I am not even taking up half of it."

"I am all right," Arthur answers.

"I will order you," she returns, a smile in her voice.

He sighs, a smile gracing his lips. "You know, you are probably the only person I would allow to give me orders," he says. "Well, you and my father..." He groans, then rises, dragging his blanket and pillow.

He pauses beside the bed, noting how little space she occupies. _She is used to that narrow bed of hers._ Still mindful of decorum, he lies down on top of the blankets, covering himself with the one in his hands.

"I don't think that's necessary," she says, turning to look at him. "I am touched by your adherence to chivalry and decorum, but your weight is pulling on the blankets and, well, this is just silly." He stares at her. She stares back. "Get under the blankets. My lord."

"Yes, my lady," he answers, flipping the spare blanket off, then sliding beneath the covers. The bed is fairly comfortable. Not as nice as his own, but he _is_ Prince of Camelot, so his bed should be better than a bed in some random roadside inn. It's certainly more comfortable than the floor. "Thank you, Guinevere. Good night," he says. "I..." he pauses, the words, "love you" sticking in his throat. "I hope you sleep well."

"Good night, Arthur. Sleep well," she replies.

Arthur isn't sure if he'll be able to fall asleep.

Little does he realize Guinevere feels the same. They both will their bodies to relax, to make their breathing slow and steady, neither of them wanting the other to think they're awake.

They must have both succumbed to sleep at some point, because when they are roused into wakefulness in the early dawn hours by a rather noisy bird outside, Guinevere is curled against Arthur and his arms are around her, holding her in a gentle but secure embrace.

She sighs, snuggling into his warmth, not yet fully aware of where she is. All she knows is she feels warm and secure. Well-rested. Loved.

Arthur, half-asleep, drops a drowsy kiss on the top of her head, tightening his arms around her. "Mmm," he hums, content and blissful. "Guinevere," he murmurs. "Guinevere," he repeats, clearly this time, his eyes opening wide. "Oh. Um..."

She looks up at him, her eyes as wide as his. "Arthur," she says, at a similar loss for words. "We must have moved in our sleep," she adds, stating the obvious.

He nods, but doesn't release her. She feels too good in his arms. Warm and soft and like _home_ if his home was a wonderful, loving place instead of a stone castle filled with responsibility and the cold, watchful eyes of his father. _Maybe this will one day be home for me._ Gathering his courage, he says, "It was rather nice to wake up this way."

She blinks once. "Yes," she quietly says. "It was."


	2. Disabled Vehicle AU

"Nonononono _please_ no..." Guinevere pleads with her ancient Ford Anglia as it rattles to a shaky halt. "Damn it." Thankfully, she started maneuvering it to the side of the road when the car began to sputter and die, so at least she isn't stalled in the middle of the road this time.

She sighs, her head dropping against the steering wheel, cursing her sentimentality over this car. Again. She had stubbornly held onto it for no other reason than it was her father's car. She is fully aware that the amount of money she poured into this thing over the years could have at least partially paid for a more reliable vehicle.

But no. She had to keep Daddy's car because Daddy was no longer around to drive it. However, Daddy's car has betrayed her. Again.

Guinevere lifts her head and reaches for her phone. The towing service is in her Contacts list. They know her by name. She feels foolish calling them again, and her finger hovers over the Call icon on her screen.

_Wait. I should call Merlin first and tell him I won't be coming._ She backs out and scrolls to Merlin's name, now steeling herself for his gentle reprimand, knowing he'll say, "I wish you would get a better car, Gwen. I know you love it, and I understand your reasons for keeping it, but I worry about you driving it." Again.

She heaves another sigh.

A pair of headlights appear, drawing her attention, and she suddenly looks up, into the rear-view mirror. She can't make out the car because all she can see are bright white lights, but it is pulling to the side of the road, parking behind her.

_Oh no. This is all I need. I'm going to be killed or kidnapped or..._

She reaches over and locks her door, now punching 999 on the keypad, finger poised over the Call icon.

It is not yet fully dark out, but the light is poor enough that she cannot make out the figure walking to her car. She keeps her eyes trained on him as he walks – no, struts. That is definitely a strut – towards her car.

Another car appears on the road, from the other direction, and as that car's headlights shine on the man, Guinevere relaxes, but only slightly. She cancels the emergency number and unlocks her door.

"Guinevere?" A familiar voice calls, and she turns to see the face of Arthur Pendragon peering into her car window. "Is that you in there?"

She opens the door. "Hello, Mr. Pendragon," she says, stepping out and smoothing her skirt.

His lips quirk into a slight smile. "Didn't I tell you to call me 'Arthur'?" he asks, referring to the last time they met, at a work function where Guinevere went as Merlin's last-minute plus-one after Freya came down with a nasty stomach bug. She had met Arthur a couple of times before, but would not say she _knows_ the billionaire heir.

"Arthur," she obediently replies. Arthur Pendragon is Merlin's boss/friend. It's a strange relationship that Guinevere doesn't fully understand. Merlin is her best friend, and he has worked for Pendragon, Inc. since they graduated from college, happily toiling away as Arthur's personal assistant. Arthur is a demanding boss and has a reputation for being a bit ruthless, yet Merlin insists he has a kind heart and is really a good man. "Nothing like his father, that's for sure," he has said more than once. The two men have forged a curious friendship, and Merlin is the only person Arthur completely trusts.

Guinevere also suspects Arthur pays Merlin extraordinarily well, judging by the house her friend just purchased. That's where she was meant to go this evening, and that is how she wound up stranded on a little-used stretch of the English countryside just outside London.

"Are you having car trouble or were you simply checking your directions to Merlin's?" Arthur asks. "I think it's still a few more miles along; you can follow me if you like..."

"It's dead," she says, frowning. "I know where Merlin's house is actually. I helped him move. But my car just died on me," she explains, looking over at the pea green hulk of metal beside her.

"Not terribly surprising, considering it is older than you are," Arthur says. She scowls and he immediately feels bad. "Sorry. I'm sure it must have sentimental value."

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. The sun is going down and the air is quickly cooling. She had expected to be inside Merlin's house with a drink in her hand by now, not standing on the side of the road in a thin dress and inadequate cardigan with Arthur Pendragon.

"Would you like a ride to Merlin's?" he asks. "You can tell me where to go," he adds with a teasing smirk.

_Did he just make a joke?_ "I should really call the towing service," she says. "Merlin will understand."

Arthur pauses a moment, peels his leather jacket from his broad shoulders, and places it around her small frame. "You're shivering."

"Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. Her heart pounds, but she tells herself it is shock, not the heady scent wafting up from his coat. _Maybe Merlin is right about him._

"You're welcome. Now. The towing service will take, what, an hour to get here? And you're a..." he pauses, bending down to peer into her car, "single woman, alone on a dark road. If you're calling them, I will stay here with you. Merlin will understand." She opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger. "However," he continues, "we _could_ continue on to the party, enjoy ourselves, and worry about your car in the morning, in the light of day."

"But—"

He bows dramatically. "Consider me your chauffeur for the evening, Miss... what is your last name anyway?" he asks, looking up at her.

"Thomas," she answers, bewildered at his behavior. She doesn't smell any alcohol on him and she is fairly certain he wouldn't be so foolish to drink and drive anyway, so she can find no explanation for his behavior. He's... charming. Almost flirty. She's never seen him like this.

Of course, she's only met him a handful of times.

And she's never been alone with him.

"Well then, Miss Thomas, what will it be? Call the tow truck now and have a boring wait and a boring night, or say 'Sod it all' and go to the party. I promise I will see you safely home and even bring you back here in the morning so you can meet the towing service," he says.

"I... I can't ask you to do that," she says.

"You aren't asking. I'm offering," he points out.

"Why?" she blurts, immediately regretting the blunt question.

He lightly shrugs with one shoulder. "Because I like you," he simply says. "Because you're Merlin's friend and a good person, and good people deserve to have a little fun now and then."

She blinks, not knowing what to say.

"Come on..." he cajoles, holding out his hand in invitation.

"I..." she stammers, so off balance she begins to wonder if a film crew is going to pop out of the bushes and tell her she's on one of those awful hidden-camera prank shows. He waits patiently, his blue eyes soft, his lips curved in a slight smile. He looks so – the only word she can come up with is "cute" – that she speaks before fully thinking it through. "Let me get my keys and lock the car."

She ducks into her car, grabs her purse and the box off the passenger seat, pulls the keys from the ignition, shoves the lock button down on the car door, and slams the door.

"All set?" he asks.

She takes a deep breath. "Let's go."

"Atta girl," he says with a nod, ushering her to his very expensive car with a gentle hand on the small of her back. She can just barely feel it through the thick leather of his coat, but she knows it's there.

_Bloody hell, is that an Aston Martin? It is._ She almost stops walking. The sleek machine appears black in the dim light, but it may be very dark gray. It looks like it's moving even though it is standing still, crouched like a sleek panther behind the algae-covered sloth that is her Ford. "This is a beautiful car," she says.

"Thank you," he answers, opening the passenger door for her. "It's a bit flash, but I've always wanted one," he tells her. "Mind your head; it's pretty low." He gently cups her elbow, assisting her into the seat, then closes the door with a soft _click._

"Wow," Guinevere says, alone in his beautiful car. The leather upholstery feels like baby skin, the black leather accented with red stitching. It is surprisingly simple, yet somehow more sumptuous than her flat. She remembers to fasten her seat belt just as he opens his door and drops into his seat.

Arthur starts the car. It growls, then purrs. "Off we go," he says, and they do. "What's in the box?" he asks.

"Strawberry-pineapple muffins," she says, feeling a little foolish because there is a very expensive bottle of champagne nudging her leg that she assumes is his housewarming gift.

"Did you make them?"

"Yes," she answers. "Turn up there," she points, remembering the large willow tree marking the turnoff.

"That's an interesting combination, but it sounds pretty good," he says.

"The funny thing is, they really taste like neither strawberry nor pineapple," she replies with a chuckle. "They're Merlin's favorite."

"Hmm. I'll have to see if I can convince him to part with one so I can have a taste," he says.

Guinevere's throat dries, though she is sure he didn't mean that to sound as erotic as it did. But her brain betrays her, thinking _Yes, Arthur wants to have a _taste_of your_ muffin. "I see you are bringing champagne," she says, clearing her throat.

"Yeah, I'm boring, I guess. Your gift is better," he says, turning off the car.

"Muffins are better than champagne?" she asks.

"Homemade is always better," he answers, looking at her. His eyes scan her face for a second too long. "You're very pretty, Guinevere," he says.

Before she can respond, he disappears out his door, jogging around to open her door for her before she can snap herself out of her stupor enough to unbuckle her seat belt.

He holds his hand down to her, and she puts the champagne bottle in it. "Um, thanks," he absently says, moving the bottle, then offering his hand again.

"Oh," she softly exclaims. "Stupid," she mutters to herself, taking his hand and allowing him to draw her from the car. "I should give you your coat back," she says.

"Later," he replies with a small wave. "We're going inside now anyway." He escorts her to the front door, his hand on her back again, this time a little firmer. She can feel the gentle pressure. It's rather comforting.

Before he rings the bell, she looks up at him. "Thank you, Arthur. This was very nice of you."

"You're welcome," he says. He extends his finger towards the bell, then drops it. "Nice?" he asks, sounding somewhat dismayed.

She blinks. "Is there something wrong with 'nice'?"

"N-no, I guess not," he answers. He looks down, then up, an uncharacteristically shy maneuver that throws her off balance. Again. "I was... hoping to, I don't know... impress you," he admits. "But I'm fairly certain that fancy cars and money aren't the way to catch your attention, and... well, when I saw you stranded there... I knew it was you the whole time, obviously, no one has that car but you... I decided to seize the opportunity to show you that there was more to me than all this." He lifts his hand in the general direction of his car.

"_You_ were hoping to impress _me_?" she asks, stunned. "We barely know each other, and, well, you're _you_ and I'm just _me,_ and..."

"Guinevere," he says, his voice low as he interrupts her. "You aren't 'just' anybody. You... you impressed me the first time I met you. I've been killing myself trying to figure out how to get to know you better... ask you out or something... can't ask Merlin for advice... I don't know..." he falls to mumbling, raking his hand through his hair.

"I don't know what it is about me you find so intriguing, but..." she starts, summoning all the courage she has, "but you _have_ impressed me, Arthur. I've never seen this side of you before... so you'll have to forgive me for being a little shocked by all this."

He nods, smiling. If she wasn't holding the box with both hands, he would have taken her hand in his. Instead, he reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind her ear. "Would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow after we get your car sorted?" he asks.

"I'd love that," she answers, smiling. "Ring the bell," she reminds him.

"Oh. Right," he chuckles, pressing the button.

The next day, Arthur makes good on his promise to help her deal with her car. Their breakfast date takes so long it also becomes a lunch date.

The next week, they agree to date exclusively.

The next month, her car breaks down again, but he doesn't try to convince her to get rid of it.

The next year, they get married. Arthur has Guinevere's car completely restored and she never has a problem with it. Ever again.


	3. Truth Spell AU

**A/N: For the purposes of this one, Arthur and Guinevere know about Merlin's magic, so that's why it's marked AU. I didn't like him deceiving them. This is meant to take place during season 4, but since It's AU, I've decided the mess with Shade!Lancelot doesn't happen.**

_This is getting ridiculous,_ Merlin thinks, watching Arthur and Guinevere in the courtyard, shyly flirting. _I know she'll never say it without him saying it first, and he's too... skittish to say it._

"Merlin, what are you plotting over there?" Gaius' gravelly voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm? Plotting? Who's plotting?" Merlin innocently replies.

Gaius simply raises a bushy eyebrow. "I know that look. Whenever you get that look, you're concocting some scheme, usually meddling into something about which you have no business."

"Me? Pssh. Never. I nev—" His protests stop in the face of his guardian's steely glare. "Arthur and Gwen," he simply says.

"Leave them be, Merlin. They will figure it out on their own. Love has a way of finding its way through, you know," Gaius advises.

"No, actually, I don't," Merlin snaps, a little more bitterly than he intended. "Sorry."

Gaius places a gentle hand on the young warlock's shoulder, understanding the young man's response. He softens his tone. "Don't get involved. Uther has only been gone a short time; you cannot expect Arthur to immediately marry a servant. He must first prove to his people he is a worthy leader and gain the full measure of their trust. Only then can he make such a bold move."

"I know that," Merlin says. "I'm just tired of watching them... dance around one another. He loves her. She loves him. They just need to _say_ it..."

"Why is this any of your concern?" Gaius asks. "I realize you consider them both friends and want nothing more than for them to be happy, but—"

"That's exactly it, Gaius," Merlin says. "Arthur mopes around when he doesn't get to see her. Gwen watches him longingly when she cannot be near him. If that's happiness, I'm a cockatrice."

Gaius chuckles, shaking his head. "Leave them be, Merlin," he repeats. "And go fetch the delivery that just arrived for me," he adds, waving his hand.

xXx

Merlin gazes down into the jug of wine in his hands. Arthur is having a private dinner in his quarters with Gwen tonight. Merlin is to set everything up, then leave. He looks again at the wine and whispers a word, his eyes flashing gold. Then, he pours a measure into each of their goblets.

Arthur walks in, inspects the table, and nods. "Thank you, Merlin. You may go," he says.

"Yes, Sire," Merlin answers. He meets Guinevere in the doorway. "Enjoy your dinner," he says.

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, giving her friend a smile. She walks inside, and Merlin closes the door behind her.

He sits on a bench in the corridor, taking up his post to fend off anyone looking for Arthur. "Enchant the corridor if you need to, I don't care," the King had said with a dismissive wave. "You know I don't wish to be disturbed. Guinevere and I get so little time alone." Merlin had to stop himself from reminding Arthur that he could easily remedy that situation. It didn't go well last time he made such a comment.

Merlin keeps his ears on the conversation happening in the royal chambers, planning to stop listening after he's gotten confirmation his spell worked.

"Guinevere, you look lovely," Arthur says, holding his hand out to her. She places her hand in his and he lifts it to his lips.

"Thank you, Arthur," she answers with a demure smile.

"Please, sit." He guides her to her seat; pulling the chair out from the table and sliding it back in for her once she's seated.

The conversation starts out rather light and superficial, discussing events of the day, the weather, the quality of the meal. Merlin can hear the clink of cutlery on the plates and the light thunk of the goblets as they are set back onto the table. A pair of guards stroll past on patrol, and he nods at them.

"I do intend to marry you, Guinevere." The words take Arthur as much by surprise as Guinevere. His eyes widen, and he blinks a few times. He looks left, then right. "I don't know where that came from," he says, then hastily adds, "I mean, it's the truth, but I have no idea why I just said it."

"Um... thank you for telling me, Arthur... to be honest, I was beginning to wonder," she answers. She presses her lips together, embarrassed by letting her uncertainty show. "I'm sorry. I know you said things would be different... I shouldn't doubt you..."

"No, you're right. I mean, you're not right to doubt me," he quickly says, almost stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out correctly. "I meant those words. But if I were you, I'd be starting to wonder, too, because I haven't exactly been forthcoming on the matter." He quickly lifts his goblet to his lips, deciding to occupy his mouth with a drink of wine to keep it from talking.

"You're still trying to get settled at being king, and I guess it's natural that I might get pushed to the side. I understand," she says. "I can't say I enjoy it, but I understand." She gasps lightly, her cheeks coloring. "I'm sorry," she apologizes again, quickly reaching for a hunk of bread and popping it in her mouth.

"I'm afraid," Arthur suddenly says. "I'm afraid of... everything. I'm afraid I'm not doing a good job as king. I'm afraid the people will think I'm just like my father. I'm afraid... _constantly_ afraid of doing the wrong thing, making the wrong decision..."

"Are you afraid that marrying me is the wrong decision, that the people... or the council will turn on you if you make such a bold move?" Guinevere asks. She shakes her head. "I should not ask such questions. You don't need to ans—"

"My feelings for you are the only things of which I am completely certain," Arthur says, interrupting her because she looks like she is getting upset. "I love you, Guinevere. Sometimes I think that's the _only_ thing I know." He searches her face, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh, Arthur, I love you, too," she answers, her worried expression melting into one that is soft and sweet. "And I am willing to wait as long as it takes," she says. "As long as I have your promise that it will happen."

Arthur reaches for her hand, and she gives it immediately. "There's something I've always wanted to do," he says, gently tugging her hand until she understands his intent. She stands and comes towards him, settling onto his lap.

"You've always wanted to do this?" she asks, amused that his aspirations are so... adorable.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. "Yes," he says. "I've always wanted to hold you in my arms, on my lap," he reaches up and caresses her cheek, tilting her face nearer to his, "and..." He kisses her, deeply, boldly, and with much more passion than he has in the past.

Guinevere sighs into the kiss, making a small noise in the back of her throat, kissing him back, matching his enthusiasm with her own. Her hand strays into his hair and he groans.

"Mmm," he hums, leaving her lips to kiss down the column of her neck, wet, open-mouthed kisses that leave her skin tingling and her body weak.

"Oh, Arthur, I want you so much," the words fall from her mouth in a breathy whisper.

She immediately stiffens, and he lifts his head.

His eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide with desire as he stares up into her shocked face.

"I… um… oh dear…" she stammers, furrowing her brows. Her cheeks feel like they are on fire. _A lady should not say something like that._ "Arthur, I don't know why I just…"

Arthur blinks, pecks her lips once, and says, "I liked hearing it. I want you, too, Guinevere." A moment later he says, "That's not what I was planning to say. Again, it's true, but… I mean no disrespect… I certainly don't wish to compromise your honor in any way…" He trails off, thinking.

"Something is making us speak our innermost thoughts," Guinevere suggests. "We both have said things tonight we would not normally speak aloud…"

Arthur's eyes narrow, and he looks towards the door. "_Merlin!_"

Merlin, who stopped listening after Guinevere told Arthur she would wait as long as it took, jolts into alertness and, heart pounding, goes to the door.

"Yes, my lord?" he asks, speaking into the crack between the doors.

"Inside," Arthur's voice beckons. Guinevere makes to move from his lap, but he holds her there, not yet ready to let her go.

"Sire?" Merlin asks, attempting to appear innocent.

"Have some dinner," Arthur says, extending his hand in invitation. His tone is cordial, but his face is stony.

Guinevere points her face elsewhere, still somewhat embarrassed and not wishing to interfere.

"My lord, I…"

"Was it the food or the wine?" Arthur asks.

Merlin sighs. "The wine," he admits. "I was only—"

"Trying to help, yes." Arthur reaches over and pushes his goblet towards the servant. "Drink."

"Arthur, I…"

"_Drink._"


	4. The Patient and the Nurse

_I think I'll stay in bed a few more minutes._ I snuggle down into the covers, blindly groping for the warm, soft body of my wife. Finding nothing in front of me, I reach behind me, eyes still stubbornly closed.

_Where is she?_

That's when I realize Merlin hasn't come to wake me yet, with his blasted cheerfulness and endless prattle about the things I need to do today. I crack open one eye. Then, I quickly close it.

_Oh. I remember now._

The bright morning light sends a shaft of pain through my head. It is then I become aware of soft conversation in the other half of our chambers. Guinevere and Merlin, from the sound of it.

I need to get up. I am the king. I have things to do. Meetings to hold. Training to oversee.

"Ugghhhmmmm..."

"Arthur," Guinevere's voice, closer but still soft, as if she knows loud sounds send daggers through my skull.

_That awful moan must have come from me._

"Guinevere," I say, trying to open my eyes again. I also try to sit up, which turns out to be a very bad idea, but I persist.

Gentle hands push me back. _When did she get so strong? Oh, that's right. She's always been strong._

"Stay in bed, Love," she says, tucking the blankets around me, pulling them up to my chin. I can feel her capable fingertips brushing my hair from my forehead. They are cool and wonderfully comforting.

"I need to get up," I say. It comes out as more of a mumble. "Council meeting. Training." I try to get up again, and she stops me again.

"Arthur, please," she replies, her voice more urgent.

I hear the curtains closing around my bed, and I risk opening my eyes. The light is dimmer now, the sunlight obscured by the heavy drapes. "Just have Gaius give me a draught or something," I say. "I'll be fine."

"Arthur, you nearly fainted yesterday afternoon," she reminds me. I feel the bed dip only slightly as she sits beside me.

"I did not," I protest.

I _did_ nearly faint yesterday.

"You did, and it worries me that you let... whatever is ailing you get this far before you admitted you were ill," she says, frowning at me, her lovely lips pouting.

"I'm fine," I say, closing my eyes. I know I'm not fine. But I have a kingdom to run. As long as I don't move... or talk... or be around other people... or be in any bright light, I'll be all right.

"You are _not_ fine, and the kingdom will survive without your leadership for a few days," she says.

"But..." I try, "I... the people will think..." I give up, realizing my arguments will get me nowhere.

"Arthur," she says, her voice firm. I've heard her use that tone with some of the younger stable boys who are a bit on the rambunctious side. It is a tone not to be crossed. "You have a troubling tendency to be blind to your own needs," she says, softer now. I feel her taking my hand in between hers. It feels nice. "Yes, you are king, but you are also my husband. If you aren't going to look after your personal well-being, I will."

"I can't be ill," I protest, my arguments growing feebler by the minute. "I…"

"You can be ill, and you _are_," she answers. I feel her lips press my forehead, then, her cheek. "You are burning with fever, you cannot be in the light, noise makes you flinch, your muscles ache, and I suspect you get dizzy whenever you try to move as well." She lists my symptoms as though she is experiencing them herself. If I didn't feel like such utter bollocks, I would be impressed.

I sigh and nod.

"Your leadership is necessary to this kingdom, but you have people – capable people – to cover the things that need doing in your absence," she continues. "Leon is quite prepared to oversee the training, and I can handle the Council meeting. We have no visitors, and things have been peaceful for months. _Rest._"

I nod again. It is really all I can manage at the moment. I trust Leon. In fact, I can just hear the sounds of the men on the training field drifting up on the breeze. He's already putting them through their paces. I know Guinevere can handle the Council meeting on her own. The members have accepted her as their queen and give her due respect.

It doesn't mean I don't hate being cooped up in here. I hate being ill. I always have. When I was a boy, Father once had Gaius strap me to my bed because I wouldn't stay put.

"I know you are a man of action, and lying here in this bed has got to be tremendously boring for you, Love," Guinevere says as though she is reading my thoughts. "But…" she pauses, and I hear her swallow before continuing, "I need you to get better. Not because Camelot needs you, not because you are my king, but because you are my husband and I love you."

I look up at her. Weakly, I reach up and caress her cheek with my thumb, humbled by the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. "All right," I say, dropping my hand, my arm weakened from the motion. "I love you, Guinevere," I add, closing my eyes again.

She kisses my forehead again, and I hear footsteps approaching from somewhere. They must be Merlin's.

"Here, my lady," he quietly says. I don't open my eyes to see what's happening.

"Thank you," she softly replies.

A moment later, something cool and damp lands on my forehead. It also smells funny. "What is this?" I ask.

"A poultice for your head. I know it smells... unique, but Gaius says the scent will help," she explains.

"Oh," I answer, resigned to my fate. "When is the Council meeting?" I ask.

"In an hour," she answers. I feel the bed shift again as she stands.

"Don't leave me yet," I say, sounding just as pathetic as I feel.

"I'm not," she assures me. "I am getting you some water to drink. I won't leave until I must go to the meeting, and will come right back here after."

"Good," I say. I feel sleepy again.

"Drink," she instructs, and I feel Merlin lift my head to drink from the goblet Guinevere is holding for me.

The water is cool and pleasant, but they don't let me drink very much.

"Small sips," Guinevere says. "You can have more soon." She sits beside me again, settling against the headboard. I achingly roll to the side and use her lap as my pillow, wrapping my arms around her legs.

She adjusts the poultice on my head, and I try to thank her, but I think it comes out as a garbled mumble.

The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is the sound of Guinevere softly singing.


	5. In a Small Space

Footsteps in the corridor reach Arthur's ears, and he quickly pulls his lips away from Guinevere's. "Just one moment of privacy, that's all I ask," he sighs, dropping his forehead against hers.

She smiles, touched by his desire to make _some_ time for her, even if they are only stolen moments here and there. With Uther ill, they no longer need to worry about him discovering them, but that also means Arthur has more responsibilities. Even his chambers aren't completely private, not that they meet there often with Arthur being very cognizant of her virtue. If she is to one day become his wife, she must be as free from gossip and reproach as possible. Being seen dallying with the prince in his private chambers is simply not a good idea.

Impulsively, Guinevere tugs his hand, knowing they only have a few more minutes before he is missed or someone wonders where she is. "This way," she says.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks. He's curious but not concerned. He also realizes she may know the castle better than he does, so he trusts her.

"Here," she says, pulling him into a very small opening behind a tapestry. It is little more than a crawlspace. "I discovered this place accidentally after dropping a basket of apples. They rolled everywhere," she explains with a smile.

Arthur likes the privacy the tiny space affords. He does not like its size. "Oh," he answers, trying to remain calm. He doesn't mind having Guinevere pressed up against him like this; in fact, he rather likes it. However, he _does_ mind the narrow space and the stone walls that appear to get closer and closer together as he looks around the tiny alcove.

She leans up to kiss him, intending to resume their earlier activity. His lips are somewhat stiff and he seems distracted. He also doesn't appear to be breathing. She pulls away, angling her head at him. "Arthur, are you all right?" she asks.

He closes his eyes, then opens them. "I..." he says, exhaling the breath he'd been holding. "I don't like small spaces," he admits. "They make me... very uncomfortable. I can't breathe. I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I..."

"Shh," she gently hushes, leading him out of the crawlspace. "It's all right," she says. "Here. Out in the open again."

He is breathing heavily, leaning against the wall. They are still somewhat secluded, but someone could happen upon them at any moment. "No one knows this," he says, closing his eyes and dropping his head back. "No one _can_ know I have this… fear."

"I understand. You know I won't tell anyone," she says, busying herself by straightening his vest. Her fingers reach up to briefly caress his cheek, and he smiles.

"I know you won't," he says. "If anyone must know… I am glad it's you." He catches her fingers and kisses them, one at a time.

Guinevere knows it isn't ego or hubris that is prompting Arthur to keep his aversion to tight spaces a secret. It is common sense. If anyone – Odin, Morgana – found out about this, they could use it to their advantage.

"I thought I knew everything about you," she says, smiling as he takes her hand and loops it behind his neck before reaching for the other.

He twists his lips to the side, making a big show of thinking very hard. "I think that's it," he says, grinning at her as he pulls her closer. "You officially know me better than anyone else. Even my father. Even Merlin," he says, kissing her.

She suspects Merlin may know about Arthur's secret fear, since he always seems to just _know_ things, but says nothing, savoring these kisses because she never knows when the next one will come.

"Arthur?"

Arthur sighs, leaning his forehead against Guinevere's once again. "I should never have uttered his name..."

"Arthur!"

"You'd better see what he needs," Guinevere says, stealing one more kiss before stepping away.

"Bring my dinner tonight?" he asks.

"Of course," she answers with a smile. "Your chambers or the hall?"

"Arthur!" Merlin's voice is closer.

"One minute, Merlin," Arthur calls back. "Better make it the hall," he answers Guinevere with a slight frown.

She nods, understanding his reasons. "Until then, my lord," she tenderly says, using the honorific more as an endearment. She softly smiles at him, then turns away, passing Merlin as she goes, thinking of a time when she and Arthur will not have to resort to stolen moments in secluded corridors.


	6. Out of Town on Business AU

_Gaining Respect by Giving Respect: Effective Leadership Techniques._ It seems like a really boring way to spend a morning. So, the night before, Arthur Pendragon decides to pay a visit to the hotel bar, figuring it he wouldn't miss much by going to the seminar with a hangover.

"Scotch. Neat," he orders. The bartender grunts and fixes his drink. Arthur frowns over his drink, still sullen over having to attend this convention in the first place. _Father should have sent Leon. Or Mithian. I'm a Vice President; I shouldn't have to go to these things._

"Vodka and cranberry, please." A smoky female voice catches his ear, and he looks over. The bar is rather empty, despite the convention, and around the corner of the bar sits a beautiful woman with almond-shaped eyes and a cascade of mahogany curls flowing over her bare shoulders.

"Sure thing," the bartender answers. His tone and demeanor is much more pleasant towards her than it was towards Arthur.

_Cute._ It is the first word that springs to Arthur's mind, but he instantly knows it is inadequate. She is much more than cute. She is uniquely beautiful. Intriguing. Wholesome, yet incredibly sexy.

She looks over at him and Arthur meets her gaze for just a moment before lowering his eyes.

"Thank you," Guinevere says, smiling at the bartender as she hands him her money. She glances over at the handsome blonde stranger again. _Very handsome. Like model-handsome. Nice shoulders. Well-dressed. Kissable lips, that's for certain._ He looks over again and she holds his gaze, taking a sip of her drink. She keeps eye contact with him as she licks her upper lip, catching the lingering moisture there.

_Bloody hell, she is flirting with me._ He lifts his own drink, holds it aloft in the slightest toast, then sips.

It is then that she notices his hands. Broad, square hands with long, elegant fingers and clean fingernails. Graceful but undeniably masculine. The kind of hands she wants wrapped around her... oh, nearly anything. She stirs her drink, deciding what to do next. She feels unusually bold tonight, like being a little crazy. Doing something – or someone – out of the ordinary. She lifts the stirrer out of her drink and brings it to her lips, drawing the tart cranberry flavor from the thin plastic straw before setting it on the napkin.

She doesn't look at him this time, but she knows he is watching. He finishes his drink, but the bartender is helping someone else, so he plucks an ice cube from his glass and sucks on it, holding it between his thumb and index finger. He drops it back in his glass, then licks the moisture from his fingers.

The bartender passes her, and she stops him, speaking quietly to him for a moment. The young man nods, and goes about fixing a drink.

Just as Arthur is about to call out to the bartender, he steps over and places a fresh drink in front of him. "Compliments of the lady," he says.

"Her next one is on me," Arthur tells him, secretly sore he didn't get to send her a drink first, though he knows he started before she did.

The bartender just rolls his eyes, clearly having seen this a thousand times.

Arthur lifts his drink, mouths the words "Thank you" to her, then takes a sip, watching as she gives him a sexy little half smile.

Guinevere reaches up and twists a curl around her finger, running out of ideas. It's been a while – a _good_ while – since she's done any flirting, and she fears her bag of tricks has come up empty. She takes another sip of her drink. It's not even half gone, and she realizes he may want to buy her one. _I certainly can't gulp it down. That's not attractive at all._ She peeks at him and finds he is still watching her, rather intently in fact. She bites her lower lip and looks down, his smoldering stare making her stomach flip. When she looks up, he isn't there.

"If you keep nursing that drink like that it'll make it very difficult for me to buy you one," he says, his voice slightly startling her.

She turns and looks at him. "Shall I just knock this one back then?" she asks, angling her head at him.

He smiles and sits beside her, setting his glass on the bar. "You... you can do whatever you like," he suggestively says.

"Hmm, I might do at that," she replies, tracing the edge of her glass with her finger. "Are you here for the convention?"

"Oh, so it's to be small talk then," he says, his eyes glinting impishly in the dim light of the bar.

She blinks, her long lashes drawing his attention. "You don't care for small talk?"

"There is a time and place for it," he says. "But this is neither of those." He moves his hand, trailing his fingers along the back of hers.

_He's rather direct._ "Indeed not," she answers, regrouping. "Can I at least tell you my name?"

The corner of his mouth turns up in a sly half-smile. "Pick a new one. However, it has to start with the same letter as your real name."

She lifts her chin, challenging him. "You pick. The letter is 'G'."

"Oh... tough one," he says, his finger still dallying, drawing circles and curlicues on her hand and wrist. "What if I guess your real name?"

"You'll only know if I let on," she says. "And I doubt you will anyway."

He thinks. _G. Gertrude. No. Gail. Meh. Ginger. Gemma. Gabrielle. Gladys? Definitely not Gladys. Grace. Gloria. Greta. Georgia. Griselda?_

"What letter are you?" she asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh. It's 'A'. Sorry, I'm pondering," he says.

"Alex," she says, deciding quickly.

"Alex it is," he says. "You are Greta."

"Greta?"

"You don't like it?"

"No, I do... I simply wasn't expecting it," she says, taking another sip of her drink.

His eyes widen. "It's not your real name, is it?"

She gives him a mysterious smile and takes another drink, saying nothing.

He makes a low groan, then follows suit, sipping his own beverage.

"Well, if we're not to make small talk..." she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Compromise," he says. "What is your title for your job? General terms; don't say the company."

"Consultant," she says. "General enough for you?"

"Quite," he says, chuckling. "Vice President," he quietly adds.

"Now you're just showing off," she teases.

"Not at all! I was merely allowing us to learn something personal about each other without getting _too_ personal. We are, after all, in a hotel, and will likely never see each other again," he says, defending his suggestion.

"I believe you," she says, having noted the tone he used when he said "Vice President". _He was trying not to boast._ "And I'm not as impressed as you might think."

He laughs, taking a drink. "I've got it. Two truths and a lie," he suggests, moving his stool a little closer to her. She smells like lilacs and sunshine, and he wants nothing more than to press his lips to her shoulder and bury his nose in her hair. "We each say three things..."

"I understand the concept, yes," she says, crossing her legs, angling her body towards his.

The motion catches Arthur's attention and he notices her strapless dress is long, hiding her legs from his eyes. He can see purple painted toenails peeking out from the hem of her skirt.

"I'll go first, unless you object," he replies.

"Be my guest," she agrees.

"One: I have a twin sister. Two: My favorite drink is milk. Three: I am intensely attracted to you."

"Hmm," Guinevere ponders a moment. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that three is definitely true," she starts. Arthur nods, reaching up to skim her cheek with his fingers before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I will guess the milk one is the lie."

He shakes his head. "I love milk," he sheepishly admits. "I have a half sister, not a twin."

"Do I have to down my drink or anything?" she asks.

"No. Not unless you want to. This is purely for fun, not to get you sloshed," he says, indulgently caressing her shoulder. _I want you sober._ "Your turn," he softly adds.

"All right," she says. "One: I am allergic to strawberries. Two: I'm not wearing any knickers. Three: I have two dogs."

His eyes widened significantly when she made her second statement. His gaze unconsciously dropped to her backside, trying to look but not _look_ like he's trying to look. "I really want number two to be true, but, sadly, I think that one is the lie."

She leans in close, her lips nearly touching his ear. "I have one cat," she murmurs.

"Oh, God," he groans. "I was going to suggest one more round, but I don't know if I can take it."

"Did I win?" she innocently asks.

"Technically, we tied, but... yeah, I think you still won somehow..." he concedes.

"What shall we do now?" she asks, her hand coming to land on his knee.

He leans towards her and presses his lips to her shoulder before nuzzling through her hair to her ear. "Come up to my room with me," Arthur whispers, his lips deliberately brushing the delicate shell.

Guinevere gives him a sultry smile. "You're not going to try to reassure me that you're not a serial killer or anything?"

He grins wolfishly. "Seems like exactly the kind of thing a serial killer would say, don't you think?" She laughs, and he takes her hand. "Wait, do _I_ need to be worried?" he asks.

She simply grins and says, "People with nothing to hide don't usually feel the need to say so."

"Ooo, someone watches _The Walking Dead_," he says, impressed. "Michonne is brilliant."

She nods her agreement, then says, "Are you about to go all fanboy on me now, or are we going to your room?"

"Definitely my room." He pulls a bill out of his pocket and tosses it on the bar for the bartender. He stands and escorts her to the elevators.

"Just so you know, I never do this," she admits, suddenly nervous. Her skin is tingling all over and she knows she is already almost embarrassingly wet she's so attracted to him.

"Me neither. I swear," he says. The elevator doors open, and he almost expects her to chicken out. But she steps into the lift ahead of him, and he presses the top button.

The elevator isn't tiny, but it is small, private, and they are alone. He wraps his arms around her, regarding her through heavy-lidded eyes before leaning down and kissing her.

She sighs into the kiss, her arms coming up around his neck as she opens her mouth for him. His tongue immediately slides in and he pulls her closer, one hand venturing down to cup her backside.

"Bloody hell, you weren't lying," he murmurs, barely moving his lips away as he gropes her rear, feeling for any sign of panties and finding none.

"Of course not," she answers, one hand raking through his hair. "Wait." She pulls away, a sudden important thought occurring to her. "Do you have protection?"

"What?" he says, blinking in surprise.

"Protection. I told you I never do this, so I don't have any. If you don't, then I'm very sorry to say you'll be exiting this elevator alone," she says, her tone quite firm though she is still in his arms.

"Oh! Right. Yes. Sorry, your question just took me by surprise," he answers. "And um, yeah, I do," he answers. The elevator doors open and he places his hand on the small of her back as she leads the way out. "I didn't come, like, _intending_ to hook up with someone, just so you know. My mate Gwaine likes to slip them into my pockets right before I go out of town. He thinks it's funny. I'll reach in for my keys or something and find six condoms there."

She laughs. "Sounds like a charming fellow," she says.

"He actually is, if you can believe it. Just a bit... juvenile at times." He unlocks his door and opens it for her.

"Posh," she declares, walking in to his suite.

"Um, well..." he says, rubbing the back of his neck as though slightly uncomfortable. His hair is still askew from their little interlude in the elevator.

"Not judging," she says, sashaying towards him. "It's a lovely room." She leans up and kisses him. This time, she reaches around and grabs his bum.

"Mmm," he hums pleasurably, sliding his hand up and over her breast as they kiss. _Nice. Good size._ "Bedroom," he murmurs, stepping out of his shoes as he walks them to the bed, still kissing.

"If we were in my room, we'd be there already," she jokes, pulling away to walk forwards so she doesn't trip over her dress.

He sits on the bed and pulls her in front of him, still standing, as he ponders her. "What do you call this thing anyway?" he asks, plucking at the garment.

"It's a maxi dress," she explains. "Very comfortable." It's her favorite summer dress. Purple, strapless and long, fitted at the top so it stays up, then long and flowing down to her ankles.

"I can't see your legs," he says, bunching the skirt in his hands as he lifts it.

"Oh, are you a leg man?" she asks, reaching up to straighten his hair.

"I'm an everything man," he says, his fingers making contact with the skin of her thigh. "And you have _everything_," he adds, his voice dropping lower.

"Except knickers," she says, her voice a breathy giggle.

"Do you often go without?" he asks, leaning forward to kiss her breasts through her dress while his hands find her backside.

"Sometimes," she answers, finding it increasingly harder to stand. "It makes me feel... mmm... sexy... like I have a little secret... oh..."

He's somehow worked the top of her dress down enough to free one of her breasts which he kisses and sucks while his fingers do some exploring below. "Oh, God, Greta," he softly exclaims when he discovers how aroused she already is.

Guinevere pauses for just a moment, having forgotten about their fake names. She pulls his face up to hers and bends down a bit to kiss him. Then she steps back and away, leaving him dazed.

She begins to pull her dress down, and Arthur stops her. "Wait..." he says. He dashes away, returning a second later with the condoms, trailing like an accordion-folded tail from his hand. He tosses them on the nightstand and sits. "Proceed."

Smiling, she gives her dress a tug, pulling it down. Once the elasticized bodice has cleared her hips, it falls into a puddle at her feet. "Your turn," she says.

"You are incredibly beautiful," he says, standing. He pulls the bedclothes back then, unbuttons his shirt just enough to pull it off over his head, revealing a well-muscled chest with a light covering of hair. Then he makes quick work of his trousers, pulling them and his boxer briefs down at the same time, then kicking them aside.

"Very nice," Guinevere assesses, stepping closer. She reaches down and takes him in her hand, stroking softly. Teasing.

"Oh," he grunts. "You're very... assertive," he croaks. "I like it..."

"Good," she says, releasing him and pushing him backwards so he falls onto the bed. She climbs over him, straddling him. "Some men find that intimidating, you know."

He slides his hands along her thighs, then up her body to her breasts. "I am quite secure in my masculinity, I'll have you know."

She raises an eyebrow at him even as she arches into his hands. "I can tell," she says. "It's very sexy."

"_You_ are very sexy," he replies, wanting to kiss her but unable to reach right now. He settles for teasing her nipples with his thumbs. "You're the most alluring, intriguing woman I've ever met," he says.

She simply smiles, then leans forward and kisses him. "I like you, too," she whispers. "That's why I agreed to come up here with you. You are very charismatic."

He kisses her deeply, his hands sliding on her silken skin. "I don't think I've ever been called that in bed before," he says, chuckling.

She moves her hips, settling over his length and sliding over it, tormenting him. "There's a first time for everything, Alex," she says, nipping his lower lip with her teeth.

_Alex? Oh, right._ "Oh, there are so many things I want to do to you for the first time," he says, flopping one arm to the side to grope for a condom. "But right now, I need to be inside you," he adds in a seductive rumble.

Guinevere rocks her hips again, moaning softly as she does so. "Mmm, I like the sound of that," she says. She moves back just enough for him to roll the condom over his shaft. A moment later, she moves him into place and sinks down over him. Slowly.

"Ohhh..." he groans, leaning his head back. His fingers dig into her hips as he stops himself from helping her move, determined to let her lead.

Fully seated, she leans forward and kisses him as she begins to move, rolling her hips. He waits until she finds her rhythm, then joins it, thrusting in time with her movements.

"Mmm," she moans, leaning back and up as he cranes his neck to reach her breast with his mouth. She moves one hand to support his head as he flicks her nipple with his tongue, sucking hard. "Ah..."

"Sorry," he mutters, afraid he'd hurt her.

"No, keep going," she says, guiding his head to her other breast.

"Okay," he answers, muffled by her breasts. He repeats his actions, sucking and flicking and biting while still managing to keep moving his hips in time with hers.

Guinevere feels tingly and weightless as the pleasurable sensations quickly begin to take over. _Close. So close._ "Oh... Alex... yes... oh..."

"Arthur," he gasps, wanting to hear her speaking his real name in that husky, breathy gasp. "My name is Arthur." He drops his head back onto his pillow, trying to hold on a little longer.

"Arthur..." she repeats, leaning back, bracing her hands on his chest. "Oh, yes, Arthur..."

He groans, closing his eyes at the sound.

A moment later, his name is being cried out in ecstasy as she comes, digging her nails in.

"Oh..." she sighs, leaning down to kiss him.

He is still moving within her, working towards his own completion. He makes a low growling sound, followed by, "Gret..."

"Guinevere," she whispers against his lips.

"God, _Guinevere_," he groans, and her stomach flutters anew. He kisses her hungrily, thrusts a few more times, then stills, his whole body tense, clutching her to his chest, as he reaches his climax. "Guinevere," he repeats, relaxing again. His hands caress her back, his fingertips giving her goosebumps. "That is an amazing name." He kisses her. "You are amazing."

They fall into a contented sleep for a time but wake a few hours later. Three times this happens; three times they make love and sleep in each other's arms, each time learning more about one another.

Guinevere wakes around five, the sunlight streaming in from the still-open curtains rousing her. Arthur is still sleeping. He is on his stomach, his arm slung across her body, face pressed into the pillow, mouth open. She smiles and slips out of bed. He grumbles in his sleep and her smile widens.

She slips her dress on, makes a trip to the bathroom, kisses his forehead, and whispers, "Goodbye, Arthur. That was the best night I've had in a long time. Maybe ever." Then she grabs her purse and quietly returns to her own room for a couple more hours' sleep before she needs to get up.

xXx

Arthur feels like a million pounds as he takes his seat just before nine a.m., coffee in hand. _Maybe this thing won't be as bad as I originally thought,_ he thinks, his eyes scanning the crowd for Guinevere's dark curls, hoping she'll be attending, though he does not know for sure if she is taking part in this convention. His thumb absently rubs across the pads of his fingers, remembering the feel of those curls last night.

He looks up towards the makeshift stage at the front of the conference room and notices the placard there. _Gaining Respect by Giving Respect: Effective Leadership Techniques. Facilitator: Gwen Leodegrance._

He doesn't think anything of it, scrolling through his email on his mobile while he waits for the session to begin.

"Good morning, everyone."

Arthur nearly drops his phone. He looks up. On the stage is his Greta, his Guinevere, dressed in a prim (but somehow still sexy) burgundy business suit, her hair pulled back into a bun. A few disobedient curls brush against the side of her neck, and all Arthur can think of is the taste of that part of her. The taste of every part of her. He swallows.

"This morning's session is about giving you – managers, supervisors..." she pauses for just a bare moment as her eyes land on him, "...vice-presidents – the tools you need to develop and maintain effective working relationships with your staff."

Arthur thinks he sees a slight flush rise in her dusky cheeks, but he isn't sure. He does know that this seminar suddenly got a lot more interesting.

xXx

When Arthur returns home that night, he finds a business card in his toiletry bag. Her card. _She must have slipped it in there before she left my room._ He vaguely remembers her whispering something and kissing him goodbye. He distinctly remembers the sinking feeling of disappointment when he fully woke to discover he was alone.

He looks at the card, then turns it over. There is small, neat writing on the back. Her mobile number, and a list.

1\. I had an amazing time last night.

2\. I have a paralyzing fear of public speaking.

3\. I would love to see you again.

_Two truths and a lie._ He smiles, fairly certain which one is the lie, since he spent three hours that morning watching her hold an entire conference room full of executives in the palm of her tiny hand.

He picks up his phone and dials her number.


	7. Accidentally Married

**A/N: Consider this an alternative to season 3, episode 11, "The Sorcerer's Shadow", which had zero Guinevere.**

"Arthur, should we really be venturing into the forest again after... well, you know," Guinevere says, memories of her almost-banishment still fresh in her mind.

"My father is confined to his bed for at least two days, Guinevere," Arthur says. "Gaius says his stomach problem will have him wishing to stay very close to his ch—"  
"Yes, I understand, no need to go into detail," she replies. Uther and Morgana have both fallen ill with the same stomach ailment, which Gaius says may have been caused by some poorly-prepared food they both ate, but could just as easily be a contagious illness, so he has confined them to their chambers.

(Unbeknownst to them all, Merlin is the one responsible for their ailments, magically given in a fit of childish ire after what the king and his ward almost did to both Guinevere and himself.)

With Uther and Morgana under quarantine, Arthur and Guinevere are free to spend some time together without worry of discovery. Arthur had decided it was the perfect time to take her on an outing into the forest. "Nothing bad will happen this time, I promise," he had assured her. When she still hesitated, he kissed her hands and confessed how helpless he had felt at the prospect of her banishment and how panicked he became when she was sentenced to death. "I couldn't bear the thought of you out here alone, not when I knew it frightened you so," he whispered. "While I can't do anything about a... a death sentence, I _can_ help you with this. Please. Let me take you into the woods." Touched by his concern, Guinevere agreed, and in a matter of hours, they were riding their horses at a walk through the forest.

"You see, Guinevere? Nothing to fear out here," Arthur says, guiding his horse along the path, riding alongside her.

"Well, no, because, as you said before, I've got you," she replies, smiling.

"Ah, yes, but if you somehow wound up out here alone, I do not want you to be afraid," he says. "That is the whole purpose of this outing. To show you there is nothing to fear."

"Except bandits. And wild boars. And poisonous plants. And... any mother animal with her young nearby. And..."

"Guinevere," he says, drawing her name out. She stops thinking of ways she could meet her end. Stops speaking them at any rate.

"Sorry. I'm not helping," she apologizes. They hear a noise, up high and off to the left. "What was that?"

"A bird," he simply says. The wind picks up, rustling the branches of the trees. "That would be the wind."

"I know that's the wind," she replies, laughing. She looks up through the trees. "The weather is turning."

"We'll be fine," he says, pressing forward. They reach a small clearing and look around a bit.

"The sky is very gray," Guinevere insists now that she has a better view. "And the sudden change of the wind. It's going to rain."

"Probably. But not for a while," Arthur replies. "Come on. I see deer tracks." He starts his horse to walking again, and she follows. "I want to show you that animals are generally not interested in eating you or even bothering you. They are more inclined to run away if they even let you get close enough. In fact, when the wind is right, most animals will smell you well before you are anywhere near them."

It is then she notices that Arthur's voice is the only sound. The birds have gone quiet. "Arthur," she says.

"This way," he continues. "See those broken branches? It went through here."

She obediently nods, following him, but keeping an eye on the clouds.

"I'm sorry, I'm talking a lot, aren't I?" he asks. "I'm just very excited about getting to show you—" A fat raindrop lands on his nose. More start plopping down from the sky. "Bloody... " he curses. "This way." He leads them to another, larger clearing. He's been this way many times, and knows there is a small church just on the other side of Camelot's border.

They race across the clearing, and a rumble of thunder reaches their ears just as they secure their horses under a shelter. Arthur grabs Guinevere's hand and bolts for the church.

"Ah! There you are!" An elderly priest greets them, walking forward as though he is expecting them.

"What? We—" Arthur starts.

"Yes, yes, I know, you are in a hurry, but you won't be getting anywhere until this storm passes," the old man says. Now that he is closer, they can see the priest's eyes are hazy and glossy. He likely sees very poorly.

"Thank you, but we simply—" Guinevere tries

"Wish to get this taken care of as soon as possible, yes, I remember, dear," the priest says, groping for her hand and patting it reassuringly. "Can't have your father finding you now, and I can't say I blame you for being worried. The man is a brute and you're better off as far away as you can get," he firmly adds. "Come, come."

"Um, Father, do you know who I am?" Arthur cautiously asks, following as the priest walks towards the front of the church, Guinevere's hand still clutched in his. He didn't wear anything that would identify him as the Prince of Camelot, being simply dressed in his white tunic and brown trousers. His sword is at his side, but all that tells anyone is he has a sword.

"Of course I do, Robert," the priest says. "You and the lovely Jocasta here just visited last week to make all the arrangements."

The priest settles them in the front of the church, pushes Guinevere's hands into Arthur's, then starts talking. He speaks quickly, knowing the words by heart, moving so fast that the bewildered prince and maidservant are hardly able to understand them, much less comprehend what his happening.

The priest turns his foggy eyes towards Arthur, an expectant look on his face. When the prince doesn't reply, the priest raises his bushy gray eyebrows.

"Yes?" Arthur answers, perplexed. He opens his mouth to say more, but the priest has already moved on.

"And you, my dear?"

Guinevere looks at the priest, eyes wide. "Hmm? Oh... um, yes?" she answers, completely confused.

"It is done. The only thing that remains is the kiss, which I'm certain you can manage," the priest declares. "Come, come, don't be shy now," he prompts.

Arthur shrugs, feeling somewhat bullied by this half-blind old man, leans forward and places a sweet, chaste kiss on Guinevere's lips.

The priest softly grunts, as though he was expecting something more. Then he turns and lifts a roll of parchment from the altar. It is tied with a red ribbon. "Here are your papers," he says, handing the scroll to Arthur.

"Sir," Arthur says, his voice firm. "What is this for?"

The priest snorts. "Why, to prove the validity of your marriage, of course," he says. "I explained all this to both of you last week," he reproachfully adds.

"Marriage?" Guinevere squeaks, her brown eyes as large as saucers.

Arthur looks at her, mouth hanging open. "Did you just marry us?" he asks.

"What is the matter with you children?" the priest asks. "You were in such a hurry last week to—"

He is interrupted by the doors in the back of the church crashing open. Another young couple hastily enters, looking somewhat harried and rather wet.

"Father Sedgewick, sorry we're late," the young blonde man says, breathing heavily. "Jocasta's father was... well, I think he suspected she was leaving, and..." He looks at Arthur and Guinevere, standing at the front of the church. "Who are these people? You guaranteed us secrecy!"

"Robert, it's all right," the petite, dark-haired young woman says. "It's probably just another couple who have gotten married."

The priest squints hard, looking at Arthur. "You're... not Robert?" he asks.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Arthur says. "We aren't Robert and Jocasta."

"Oh, dear," Father Sedgewick frets. "Oh, dear, oh, dear..."

"We are... truly married?" Guinevere asks, dread pooling in her stomach. _Uther is going to have me executed for certain this time._

"Yes, I'm afraid so," he says. "In the eyes of God, you are husband and wife. I hope the two of you are at least friends..." He wrings his hands. "However, that _would_ explain that rather uninspiring kiss..."

"Excuse me, but we are in haste," Robert interrupts, stepping closer. Suddenly he stops, clearly recognizing Arthur. "My l—"

"Well, thank you for the... unexpected afternoon, sir, but I believe we will be going," Arthur says, cutting Robert off. He gives the other man a pointed look that clearly says _Do not say who I am._ Robert nods once, understanding.

"I am sorry... what is your name?" Father Sedgewick asks.

"It is of no consequence," Arthur answers. "Come, Wife," he adds, smiling tenderly at Guinevere. She places her trembling hand in his, and he kisses her cheek. "I will protect you. I promise," he whispers.

She nods, still shocked, as they walk past Robert and Jocasta. Arthur pauses, noting that, to someone with very poor eyesight, there is a resemblance. He reaches to his belt and takes out his purse. "Best of luck to you both," he says, placing the entire thing in Robert's hand. "If you are fleeing, you'll need some coin."

The young peasant couple stares in stunned gratitude at the prince. "Thank you," Robert finally manages, "my lord," he adds, quieter. He doesn't recognize Guinevere, but guesses she must be a commoner, otherwise she wouldn't look so terrified at the idea of suddenly being married to the prince. He can also tell they are closer than a prince and a commoner should be, but he keeps his tongue.

Arthur nods, claps Robert on the shoulder, then heads out into the rain with Guinevere. They decide to shelter with the horses. It's outdoors, but at least it's covered.

"It will be all right, Guinevere," Arthur says, sitting on some bales of hay. He gently pulls her down to sit beside him.

"How can you say that, Arthur? If your father finds out..."

Arthur exhales. "He will likely see if Geoffrey can find a way to dissolve the marriage. Especially because I don't plan on... pressuring you to... you know..."

She weakly smiles. His consideration for her warms her heart, but it does little to thaw the freezing cold dread that has encased it. "He won't dissolve our marriage. He will accuse me of using witchcraft – again – and have me imprisoned, then executed. And he may forego the imprisonment," she quietly says.

He takes her hands in his, kissing them. "I will not let him harm you. If he wants to kill you, he'll have to kill me as well."

Guinevere stands, too agitated to stay seated. "How are you going to stop him, Arthur? He's the _king._ And I'm not exactly his favorite person these days. He would order my execution as easily and casually as he orders his dinner." She looks over at him and sees that he knows she is correct. "He cannot know. He can never find out. No one can. This is the only way."

"Guinevere," Arthur says, reaching out to her again, this time drawing her onto his lap. "I know I haven't explicitly said it, but I'm going to say it now. I love you. I have for some time now, and I know I always will. All I want is to make you happy. Protect you from harm." He pauses, kissing her. Then he gently wipes the tears that have escaped from her eyes. "It was never my intention to tell my father about this. We will keep the parchment at your house, so it won't even be in the castle."

"Thank you, Arthur," she answers. "I... I love you, too. I'm just so scared."

He kisses her again. "I know. I am, too," he admits. "But we will get through this. We won't tell my father or Morgana, or..."

"Not even Merlin," she says. "I know you tell him everything, but..."

"I don't tell him _everything,_" he protests. She waits a moment. "All right, perhaps I do. He is one of the few people I can truly trust though."

"I know he is trustworthy. He is one of my dearest friends, too, and I'm glad you have someone in whom you can confide... someone to whom you have unlimited access, I mean," she explains, knowing he was about to protest he confides in her as well. "It is not a matter of whether or not we can trust him."

"If only you and I know, there is less of a chance of my father accidentally finding out we are married," Arthur concludes, understanding. "If that is your wish, then that is what we shall do," he pauses, kissing her cheek, "my princess."

Guinevere closes her eyes. "This is going to be difficult," she softly says, growing much too comfortable with this close proximity to him.

"We've dealt with 'difficult' before," he reminds her. "Do you remember my promise, Guinevere?"

She nods. "When you are king, things will be different. We can be together," she answers, resting her head against his, deciding to savor this time with him. The rain is letting up, and they have now been gone much longer than they had planned.

"We _will_ be together," he says, amending this part. "You have my solemn promise as a knight. As your husband." He leans away just enough to move back in and seal his promise with a kiss.


	8. Dog Park AU

"Hello, who are you?" Arthur says, looking down at a dog sniffing at his shoe. The dog, which appears to be the variety of mutt that can only be obtained through years of random pairings, politely sits and looks up at him.

Arthur sets his sandwich down on the bench beside him. The dog tracks the sandwich's progress, its brown eyes locked on the roast beef hanging over the sides of the bread.

He studies the dog. The animal is medium-small, with black and white fur and shockingly blue eyes. The fur on top of his head is glossy black and slightly obscures one of the blue orbs. Then the dog smiles at him, its pink tongue flopping out.

At least it appears to be smiling.

"Let's see who you are then," Arthur says, slowly reaching down to the dog's collar. He laughs aloud when he reads the name on the tag. There is a phone number listed as well, so he reaches for his mobile.

"Merlin!"

Arthur drops his phone back into his pocket. "Someone is looking for you," he says.

"Merlin!" The voice is closer and louder.

Arthur sees a pretty but frantic-looking young woman walking quickly, her eyes scanning just below knee-level. He scoops up the dog and stands. "Over here, miss," he calls, abandoning his sandwich on the bench.

"Oh, thank God," she cries, running over. There is a red leash in her hand – color-coordinated to Merlin's collar – and the first thing she does is connect it. "You are a naughty boy," she admonishes, holding the dog's face up to hers. Merlin licks her chin. "Stop it. I'm mad at you and will not accept your kisses." She takes the dog from Arthur and sets him on the ground. "Thank you so much," she says, surreptitiously wiping her face.

"Not a problem at all," Arthur answers, _really_ noticing for the first time how attractive she is. "Merlin, huh?" he asks, wishing to keep her around a few more minutes.

"Yeah," she says with a shrug. "It seemed to suit him."

"It does," he agrees. "My best mate is called Merlin," he adds with a cheeky grin.

"He is not!" Guinevere exclaims with a laugh. _Surely he's having me on. No one is called Merlin._

"Looks a bit like your dog, too," Arthur insists, laughing with her. He pulls out his phone and brings up Merlin's contact info, complete with picture.

"Oh, my God!" Guinevere laughs. Merlin (the dog) jumps excitedly, his tail wagging. "He does! Even down to the red collar..."

Merlin happens to be wearing a red shirt in the photo, and Arthur smiles. "He wandered away from you?" he asks, nodding down at the dog.

"Yes. We _were_ at the dog park. I took my eyes off of him for five seconds to get a bag out to... er, pick up after him, and when I finished, he was nowhere to be seen," she explains, looking down at the dog, who seems quite oblivious to his mistress' ire. "So I'm standing there with a bag of shi—um, you know, and no dog." She looks up at Arthur, who is simply watching her with interest, a curious smile on his face. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"Nice to meet you, Rambling, I'm Arthur," he says, holding out his hand.

She blinks at him. "Did you just Dad Joke me?"

"I did," he declares. "And I still don't have your name," he reminds her. "Or shall I continue to call you 'Rambling'?"

"Oh! Sorry," she grasps his hand. It's large and warm. His grip is firm without crushing. It's a hand that would be very nice to hold for extended periods of time. "Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen though."

He doesn't release her hand yet, her cool slender appendage feeling far too pleasant. "Well, Guinevere, I am glad I was the one to find your dog," he says. "Although, truth be told, he found me. Or, more accurately, he found my lunch, which is..." he turns and looks, releasing her hand. His sandwich is gone. "No longer there."

"Oh no!" she exclaims. "Had you at least eaten most of it?"

"Um, no. I only had a couple of bites," he answers. "It's all right. I can get another."

"Let me buy it. Please," she says, placing her hand on his upper arm. "It's my fault your lunch was stolen; at least let me replace it. As a way of saying 'thank you'."

"Thank you, but it's really not necessary," he replies.

"I insist."

Arthur gets the impression he's not going to win. _But I can win another way. Maybe._ "All right. But only if you join me," he says.

Guinevere looks at him. _He seems nice. Handsome. Wearing a tailored suit, so I'm guessing he's a professional._ "From that food truck over there?" she asks, nodding in its direction. "Most restaurants don't allow dogs."

"That is exactly what I was thinking," he replies with a nod. He turns a bit and offers his arm. "My lady?"

She gives him another slightly wary once-over before looping her hand into the bend of his elbow. "Sir."

They walk to the food truck, Merlin sniffing here and there. As they stand in the queue, he looks down at her. _She's very pretty. I really would like to see her again._

"What's good here?" she asks, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Most things," he answers. He conspiratorially leans closer to her. "I wouldn't get the tuna though," he warns.

Her eyes widen. "Why not? Is it awful? Did someone get sick?"

"Nah, I just don't like tuna," he casually says, grinning.

"You're a strange person," she laughs. "I mean that in a good way," she adds, her voice softer.

"Thanks," he answers. "Are you willing to give your phone number to strange-in-a-good-way people who find lost dogs?" he asks.

She looks up at him, her heart fluttering slightly at the realization he is interested in her, too. "Well, you _did_ say he found you, but... yes. You can have my number. _After_ we eat."

"I'll be on my best behavior then," Arthur says, smiling.

"Hmm. That's really too bad," Guinevere replies, an impish gleam in her eyes that makes him just want to kiss her right there in the line.

Neither of them notice it's their turn to order until the man's voice makes them both jump. "What can I get for you?"


	9. Memory Loss

Guinevere wakes up in a pleasant haze. She feels warm, cozy, comfortable...

_Too comfortable. My bed is not this plush. Or this big._

Then she notices the arm around her and the solid presence behind her.

_ And there _definitely_ should not be another person in it!_

She leaps out of bed, heart pounding, head spinning as she whirls around, taking in her surroundings. It is barely dawn, but it is light enough to see that she is not in her home.

_I am in the prince's quarters! Why was I in bed with –_ she peeks, hoping to see anybody, _anybody_ but the prince – _Arthur?_ She gasps, covering her mouth with trembling hands.

"Guinevere, what's wrong?" Arthur mumbles, groping for her as he blinks awake. He lifts his head and she skitters backwards on her bare feet, which she notices, are not freezing because the floor is not as cold as ice. He looks up, puzzling at her, yet she can see an undeniable fondness in his eyes. He is genuinely worried about her, and that makes her take another step back.

"My lord... I... I don't know why I... what... how...?" she stammers, trying not to look at him as he lifts up on one elbow, bare-chested with sleep-rumpled hair. Her eyes fall on the nightstand beside the bed, where she sees a hand mirror, a comb, a bottle of perfume, a jar of some sort of cream with a picture of a lavender flower on it, and a few hair ribbons. She feels tears stinging her eyes, and looks down to see herself dressed in a beautiful silk off-white nightgown embroidered with gold accents. She sees a coordinating dressing gown draped over a nearby chair. "What is happening?" she asks as a tear rolls down her cheek. She feels slightly dizzy.

"Guinevere," Arthur says, reaching his hand out to her. "You must have had a nightmare. I know yesterday was a big day, and we've been through a lot recently, but you're with me now, and you're safe."

"A nightmare. Yes. I'm having a nightmare," she reasons, looking around for things that don't make sense. Things apart from her presence in the prince's bed chamber. "I'm sure I'll wake up any second now..."

"Guinevere, you _are_ awake," he says, sitting up further.

She looks at him and sees the scars on his chest and shoulder where, to her mind, there should be a still-healing wound from the questing beast. The marks are definitely there, but they appear years old now.

"Sire?" she asks, not moving. "Your wound... it's... healed?"

"What wound?" he asks, looking down. "The rib Helios' soldier cracked is feeling much better, but there's no way you could see that..."

She quickly shakes her head, trying in vain to clear it. "Who is Helios? Why am I dressed like this? Why was I in your bed? I'm... I'm supposed to be at home!" Her voice rises as she speaks, growing more confused and upset. Arthur is staring at her, dumbfounded, and she exhales heavily. "Forgive me, Sire. I... I don't know what's happening. But I should really... get to work..." She looks towards the window. The sky is growing brighter. "Morgana will be expecting me shortly after sunrise... I need to go..." She starts for the door, looking for something, _anything _that makes sense.

He jumps from the bed, heading her off. He holds her gently by the shoulders, and she shrinks from him. He studies her face, pushing aside the stinging in his heart her skittishness with him has caused. _She is acting like she did... before we..._ "Guinevere," he says her name softly and gently. "I think something has happened."

"Oh, God... did we...?" she asks, looking back at the bed. _I guess I should be thankful I am dressed. But I don't _feel_ any sort of discomfort or..._

"No, not... not that," he answers, grateful for the first time they did not make love the previous night. They had both been too exhausted from the coronation and festivities thereafter. "I think you've been enchanted somehow."

"Enchanted?" she asks. "So... this is...?"

"This is exactly where you are supposed to be right now," he confirms. "Come and sit. We'll sort this out." He leads her to a chair and gives her her dressing gown, deliberately keeping his actions calm and tender so as not to frighten her more than she already is. "Would you like a drink?"

"You're serving _me_?" she asks.

He nods and holds up a goblet, offering it to her. "Water."

"Thank you, my lord," she answers, taking it. She takes a small sip.

"Is it all right if I ask you some questions?" he asks, pouring a drink for himself as well.

"Yes, Sire. But please, can you... um, that is, _would_ you put a shirt on first?" she asks, looking at her lap.

"Of course," he answers, his heart heavy as he reaches for the nearest shirt, which happens to be his white one. _Her favorite._ There is a knock at the door as he pulls it on over his head. "One moment," he calls.

He walks to the door and opens it a crack. "Go away," he tells Merlin.

_Since when does Merlin knock?_ Guinevere thinks, puzzling as she sees the servant. _He looks different, too. Older. Not so scrawny. Arthur seems to be a bit bigger and older than I remember, too..._ She picks up the hand mirror and looks at her reflection. _I am older, too._ She notices how long her braid is as well, marveling at how it falls nearly to her waist. She drops the mirror back onto the nightstand, reflective side down, then drops her head into her hands.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asks, trying to peer inside.

"Nothing. Guinevere isn't feeling well. We don't wish to be disturbed," Arthur says, trying to get rid of his servant.

"Oh, dear. Gaius is in the lower town. The midwife needed his assistance. You know I've been studying with him for years now; maybe I can take a look..." he offers.

"No," Arthur cuts him off. "It's just... too much celebration from yesterday. She wishes to rest and I wish to stay with her. If I need anything, I'll send for you."

"But—"

"We are not to be disturbed," Arthur firmly repeats, then closes the door and locks it.

He returns to Guinevere and pulls a chair over in front of hers. "Guinevere, you said you needed to go attend Morgana, is that correct?"

"Yes, Sire."

He closes his eyes. "Please stop calling me 'Sire'. I... I can't bear it," he requests, his voice breaking.

"What shall I call you?"

"Call me Arthur," he answers.

"I... I shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"You are the prince and it is not my place to address you familiarly."

"Guinevere," Arthur says. He reaches for her hands then decides against it. "I am the king now. My father died several months ago. I am the king and you are my queen. More importantly, you are my _wife._"

She gasps, her hands flying over her mouth, her brown eyes wide as saucers. "How... how is that possible?" she asks.

He takes a deep breath and answers, "It is possible because we love each other very much. And I am the king, so I changed the rules."

"No..." she whispers.

His heart breaks a little, but he perseveres. "Look around you. Everything you see that doesn't look like it should be mine belongs to you. This is now your room as much as it is mine."

"How... how long have we been married?"

"Just over a week. You were officially crowned queen yesterday. There was a coronation ceremony and a feast in your honor," he says. "You... you do not remember _any_ of it?"

She shakes her head. "The last time I remember seeing you was after you had woken from your injuries battling the questing beast," she quietly says, dabbing her fresh tears with a handkerchief made of material too fine to be used in such a base way.

"That was the injury about which you inquired," he says, understanding now.

"Yes."

Arthur leans back in his chair, heaving a heavy sigh. _She has lost approximately six years. She doesn't even remember our first kiss. Whoever did this – Morgana, undoubtedly – knew how far back to take her._ He stands, walks quickly around the bed, opens the drawer in his nightstand, and retrieves something. When he returns, he shows her a plain linen handkerchief.

"Do you recognize this?" he asks.

She takes it, idly fingering the stitching. "Yes. This is mine."

"You gave it to me before a tournament. For luck," he explains, gently removing it from her hands. It is his talisman, his reminder of her and her words of wisdom during that time. His reminder that he is no better than any other man. Most importantly, it is his reminder of the moment his eyes and heart opened to her; of when he began falling in love with her. He rubs the material between his thumb and forefinger. "That was five years ago. I have worn it in every tournament and battle since then," he tells her. "You do not remember giving it to me." This time it is not a question. It is a statement of defeat.

"I am sorry, Si— Arthur," she apologizes.

"It isn't your fault, Guinevere," he assures her, sitting up straighter, forcing himself to be strong. "At least we know how much time you have lost. I don't know what to do about it, but at least we know."

"I believe what you are telling me," she says, finding, to her surprise, that his anguish is touching her heart. _This might be a good sign._ "And I... I can _see_ that everything you're saying is true, but... I swear I cannot remember." She looks around again at all the new items in the room, things she knows were not present the last time she remembers being here. She even sees a beautiful crown, clearly the crown of a queen, resting on a pillow on the table. Her hand unconsciously comes up to her forehead, touching, trying to see if she can feel where it supposedly had been the day before.

"You don't like wearing your crown," Arthur says, guessing her thoughts. "You think it's heavy and somewhat uncomfortable." Guinevere drops her hand and looks at him in surprise. "I don't like wearing mine, either."

She weakly smiles, unable to stop it. _Has he always been this sweet, this charming? Did I never see it?_

"Guinevere, I don't know what to do," he admits. "I suspect Morgana is behind this, but we—"

"Morgana?" she exclaims.

"She's... well, she's turned evil. She discovered she has magic and has embraced the Old Religion as a High Priestess. She has tried to take the throne twice, and will not stop until she has it. She means to kill me. Likely you as well. She is also Uther's daughter, so she thinks she is the rightful heir," he says. He sees her stricken expression and adds, "That's... that's a lot to take in all at once... I am sorry."

"I can't believe it," she gasps. "I... I always thought I was more than just her maid..."

"You were. You were her friend, just as I was."

"This is too much," Guinevere says. "It is too much, yet I... I need more. I need you to tell me more... Arthur."

"I will tell you everything you wish to know, Guinevere. Maybe hearing about our... our journey together will help bring your memories back," he says. He doesn't know what he's going to say when he gets to the ordeal with Lancelot, but he presses on.

xXx

"Stop..." Guinevere says, holding her hand up. Arthur has been talking to her for a solid hour. "I... I can't hear any more. It's too overwhelming."

He had just finished telling her about how he informed Agravaine of his plans to ask for her hand and how he had enlisted Merlin's help to fill her house with candles while he snuck up on and blindfolded her.

"I'm sorry, it's all very lovely, but it... it sounds like I'm hearing a story about another couple," she says, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "I... I can see you... you love me, and while I will admit discovering some... fond feelings for you on the night I tended to you while you were unconscious, I..." She sighs. "It feels like we are in two different places."

"Two different timelines," Arthur says, his voice barely audible. "Damn you, Morgana," he mutters under his breath, hanging his head. He looks up. "None of my words, none of the stories I've told you have triggered any memories."

Guinevere shakes her head, still crying. She's soaked through the first handkerchief and has nearly saturated the second. "I... I need..."

"What do you need?" he asks, hopeful.

"I need to get out of this room. I'd like to take a walk to clear my head," she says, dabbing her eyes once more before standing.

He stands as well.

"Um... oh dear. I mean to walk alone, Arthur. I'm sorry," she clarifies. She ducks her head and heads to a wardrobe she doesn't recognize. She pulls out the plainest-looking dress, a simple burgundy gown, likely for riding, and quickly goes behind a privacy screen to change.

"Guinevere, I can't allow you to go alone," Arthur says, respectfully standing on the other side of the screen. He's seen everything she has to offer, but she doesn't remember any of it. "You may not remember you are the queen, but to everyone out there, you are."

"Please, Arthur. I... I don't know what else to do. I'm hoping that if I see more of the kingdom... get my bearings..."

He sighs, feeling heavier than he has in some time. "Very well," he consents, knowing he could never deny her anything. "I will tell Leon to have the guards remain at a distance, but keep watch. It is the best I can offer. Your safety is more important to me than anything, Guinevere."

She steps around the screen, still fidgeting with the ties in the back. Arthur automatically steps behind her and helps, causing her to still, standing frozen in shock as the prince – _no, the king_ – acts as handmaiden. "Thank you," she whispers once he has finished.

He weakly smiles, then hesitantly reaches up and touches her chin, lightly rubbing it with his thumb. "We will find a way to bring your memory back," he assures her with more confidence than he feels. "And if not..." He exhales. "If not, I promise you I will not push you for anything." He moves away for a moment, handing her her cloak. "It's been cold lately," he explains.

"Thank you," she replies, grateful for – and confused by – his thoughtfulness in both areas. "I'll try not to be gone too long." She pauses, looking up at him, searching his blue eyes for... anything. She sees his love for her in them, and while she does not deny it is nice, it overwhelms her. Then she turns and exits the royal chambers through the smaller door that only Merlin sometimes uses.

xXx

_She's been gone too long._ Arthur paces, fretting. It's past noon now, and she still hasn't returned. Merlin came back, quietly inquiring about lunch, and Arthur turned him away. He absently munched an apple that happened to be on the table a bit earlier, but barely remembers eating it. He has decided to consult Gaius once the physician returns from his duty in the lower town, but the fewer people who know about Guinevere's condition, the better.

He walks to the window, looking down into the courtyard, searching for her. For her dark hair; the swish of burgundy skirts. He sees only knights and servants.

"That's it," he growls, striding towards the door.

He searches the castle grounds first, starting with Morgana's old rooms. They are as she left them, only with a layer of dust. "Time to clean this room out," he mutters. "She's not coming back. Not as a guest." He closes the door and snaps instructions to the first maid he sees before heading out to the gardens.

She isn't in the gardens or the kitchens. She isn't in the laundry or the archives. She isn't anywhere in the castle, so Arthur makes for the forest.

_She does not venture far in,_ he recalls, quickly walking the path they have taken together many times. He stops in his tracks when he realizes she would not know this path. _She would still be afraid of the woods._ Angry with himself for his foolishness, he runs towards the lower town.

He strides through the marketplace, eyes searching, heedless of the people bowing and curtseying as he passes. He finds a guard and asks about the queen. The guard hasn't seen her, but he's only just come on duty.

Refusing to become disheartened, Arthur continues on. _Think of the Guinevere you got to know when you first stayed at her house,_ he reminds himself. _Where would _she_ go?_

He stops dead. _Her house. How could I be so stupid?_ He runs.

Her home is still empty. He's heard rumors that no one wishes to live there. Some say it stands empty out of deference to their queen. Some say it is cursed because of her banishment. Regardless, Arthur knows it will eventually become a home for someone again.

He skids to a stop just outside her door. There is no sign of life coming from inside, but that doesn't mean she isn't in there.

_Should I try the door? Should I knock?_ He walks up and peeks into the window like a common criminal.

Guinevere is there, standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him. She is as still as a statue.

Without thinking, he rushes inside. She jumps and turns. "I was so worried about you," he gasps, gathering her into his arms and kissing her.

He pulls away a moment later. "Oh… oh, I'm sorry," he stammers, staring down at her, his face shocked and filled with remorse. "I promised you I wouldn't push, and here I—"

She stops his words with her lips, kissing him back, winding her arms up around his shoulders. The fingers of her right hand slip into his hair, and when she feels his arms wrap around her and pull her closer, she knows that he understands what has happened.

"You remember," Arthur gasps against her lips, trying to talk and kiss at the same time.

Guinevere laughs in spite of everything, pulling away. "Yes, Love. I remember." She pecks his lips. "Your kiss brought me back."

"Just as yours once did for me," he smiles.

"Yes," she agrees. "I remember." Then she lifts up on tiptoe and kisses him again.

xXx

Morgana shrieks in anger, sending the scrying bowl flying to the floor. She wheels on Trickler. "You said you knew what you were doing!"

Trickler cowers, bowing his head. "I... I did... I _do_, my lady," he insists. "I erased all her memories of the past six years, as you said... she... she would have woken thinking she was still your maidservant, with no thoughts of love or her marriage to Arthur. She _did_ wake thinking that, I know she did. My man sent a message saying she left the castle looking confused and upset, dressed plainly."

Morgana blasts him across the room. "Then _why... did I just see them... happily walking together... in the castle corridors?_" she shrieks, gesturing towards the upset bowl, still spinning on the floor.

"I do not know, my lady!" he answers, scrambling to his knees. "I... the only way the spell could be broken was if—aaurrghhh..." his words turn into a garble as she cuts off his air supply, her angry eyes bright gold.

"There was a way the spell could be broken?" she asks with unnerving sweetness. "In the name of all the gods of the Old Religion, why would you _cast a spell that could be broken without magic?_" Her voice rises to a screech as she asks the question.

He gasps, inhaling deeply as she releases her magical chokehold so he can answer. "The circumstances by which it can be broken are... most improbable, my lady... I thought there was no chance..."

"You thought? Did I ask you to _think_?" she asks, blasting him backwards again.

"Unh... no, my lady," he groans, finding his way back to his knees once more. "The spell could only be broken if she shares a kiss with her true love in the exact location of their very first kiss... I didn't thi— I mean, the chances of that happening are so slim that—"

His words stop quite abruptly as his neck is broken. He falls in a limp, lifeless heap on the floor. Morgana waves her hand and two of her henchmen hurry forward to drag Trickler's body away.

Morgana strides back to her dirty, crumbling throne in the ruin of a castle she has claimed, and heavily sits. "I will not be usurped by a serving girl," she mutters. "Ah, dear Gwen, do enjoy your rule while you can..."


	10. Drunken Strip Poker

Merlin pushes away from the table and stands. "Ugh, that's it, I'm _done,_" he declares.

"We can see that, mate," Arthur chuckles, indicating the complete lack of poker chips in front of his friend.

"I'm broke, drunk, and tired," Merlin says, stretching his arms over his head. "That means it's time for bed."

"Mmm, I think I'll join you," Morgana purrs, picking up her stack of chips and pointedly passing them to Guinevere. "You'll keep these safe for me," she says, giving her brother a sideways glare.

"Of course," Guinevere answers, setting them off to one side.

Arthur groans. "Ugh, you're going up with him while we're still sitting here?" he asks, making a disgusted face.

"It's a big house, Arthur," Morgana says with a shrug. "You won't hear a thing," she sweetly adds, wrapping her arm around Merlin's waist.

Arthur watches them walk away. When they are out of sight and hearing he looks at Guinevere, seated beside him at the square table. "I really don't mind that they're together. It's good for both of them."

"I know," Guinevere replies, shyly picking through her rather sizable stack of chips.

"They would be disappointed if I didn't take the Mickey out of them whenever possible," he adds. She nods, and he picks up his bottle of beer and takes a long drink, trying to think of something clever to say. Or simply something.

Guinevere makes him tongue-tied. Even with the help of alcohol, he still finds himself at a loss for words in her presence. She is sweet, quiet, kind, smart, and beautiful. She is the only person able to make Arthur lose his legendary confidence. He's been hopelessly smitten for as long as he can remember.

The problem is, she doesn't know she has this effect on him. And he can't seem to summon the courage to act on his feelings.

"So... what should we do?" he finally asks. "Poker's not that good with just two people..."

Guinevere hesitates a moment before quietly saying, "It can be." She takes a small sip from her bottle, trying to hide now that she's opened this door a crack, letting the few beers she's consumed give her the courage she doesn't normally have.

She is similarly smitten, and, until very recently, hasn't even been able to fathom how someone like him might be interested in _her_. But Morgana has been dropping some very clear hints lately that suggest he is.

"What do you mean?" he asks, angling his head at her.

"Poker with only two people can be fun. If you play the right kind, I mean."

_Surely not..._ "How drunk are you, Guinevere?" he asks.

She laughs a little. "Not very, but apparently I'm drunk enough to entertain this idea," she admits, lifting her bottle to her lips once more.

Arthur watches her lips. She licks a spot of moisture from her upper lip and his throat goes dry. He takes a quick swig of his beer. "Just so we're clear: You're talking about Strip Poker, right?"

Guinevere bites her lower lip and nods once.

He stares back at her. _Oh. My. God._ He swallows. "All right." He picks up the cards and shuffles.

xXx

Guinevere loses the first hand. While Arthur looks on with undisguised interest, she reaches behind her back, then shuffles her arms in and out of her shirt, finally pulling her bra out of one sleeve.

"In... interesting choice," he stammers.

"It was getting uncomfortable," she explains. "Have you ever worn a bra? They get a little..." she squirms her shoulders, trying to come up with the word, "restrictive after a while. It's been a long day, and I've been wearing that thing since six a.m."

"Oddly enough, I have worn a bra. Once. For Halloween," he says. He takes a drink. "You remember. I went as a housewife, and Morgana loaned me one of her old bras. We stuffed it with tube socks."

Guinevere laughs. "That's right! That was the year I was a witch doctor, and _no one_ understood my costume."

"It was a brilliant costume!" Arthur says. She wore her hospital scrubs from her nursing job along with a pointy black witch hat. She even had a stuffed black cat and a little fake shrunken head on a stick. They had gone to the pubs and no one outside of their circle appreciated the cleverness of her ensemble.

"Thank you," she says, taking a drink, then reaching for the cards.

Arthur loses the next two, and removes his socks, one for each loss.

Guinevere loses one more, removing her bracelet with an impish grin on her face, and after that, Arthur finds himself on an unbelievable losing streak.

At one point, his foot accidentally finds hers under the table. Hopeful, he doesn't withdraw it. She ducks her head, pretending to concentrate on shuffling the cards to hide her smile.

His shirt goes next and now it is Guinevere's turn to watch with undisguised interest, his muscles flexing as he pulls the garment over his head.

He has to move his feet to take his trousers off after the next hand. When he doesn't "accidentally" find her feet again under the table, she finds she is unreasonably disappointed.

Arthur, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs, shuffles the cards, wondering if she somehow switched decks on him to make him lose.

"You're a brave man, Arthur," Guinevere says, watching him prepare to deal a hand that could very well render him completely naked.

He stops dealing. "No, I'm not," he says, her fifth card suspended between his fingers, waiting to be dealt.

"What makes you say that?" she asks, noting his serious tone.

He puts the card back on the top of the deck and sets the stack down. He regards her for so long she is just opening her mouth to ask if he is okay when he finally speaks. "I'm not brave where you are concerned," he blurts.

"What?"

He takes a drink. "I mean, if something was _threatening _you, I would definitely be brave, but..." he sighs. "I'm not sober enough to find the words I wish to say, and not drunk enough to _say_ them to you."

"Which words?" she asks, turning to face him more.

Instead of speaking, he reaches for her hand. He lifts it to his lips, kissing her fingers, then her palm. She gasps lightly, not sure if she is too drunk or not drunk enough.

"Arthur," she whispers, her eyes meeting his.

"Guinevere, I..." he starts, tongue-tied again. He kisses her wrist, then suddenly scoots his chair back. He stands, gently tugs her to her feet, and kisses her in one fluid motion.

"Oh," she says when he pulls away. It sounds like mild surprise, desire, and understanding all at once, and he's not sure how to interpret her response to his actions.

He doesn't get too long to think about it, because a moment later, _she_ is kissing _him_, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He groans, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss.

Guinevere's lips part for him with almost no coaxing, kissing him as hungrily as he is her. His hands rove her back, one moving down to her rear, the other moving up, where he is reminded that she is not wearing a bra anymore.

"Will you come upstairs with me?" he murmurs against her lips.

"Yes," she answers, "but..."

He lifts his head and looks down at her so she knows he is giving this his full attention. "But?" He thinks he knows what she means, but he wants to be sure.

"Um," she says, suddenly shy. "I want to take one step at a time. This is so new, and I'm a little drunk, and—"

"Guinevere," he replies, kissing her again, "I have been in love with you for years. I've waited this long." He pauses again as he kisses her once more. "I can wait a little longer." Then he gives her a soft, lingering kiss. "Taking things slowly can be fun."

"We don't have to take things _too_ slowly," she clarifies, running her hands down his arms. She takes his hand in hers and begins leading him to his room. "I'm still going to your room."

His eyes widen at the possibilities her implications suggest. "What, precisely, do you mean by not 'too slowly'?" he asks as they walk into his bedroom. He closes the door behind them and locks it.

She looks him up and down, standing there in just his underwear. "Knickers stay on," she decides, giving him an enticing half smile.

"That's it? That's the only rule?" he asks, reaching for her again, his fingers already bunching the material of her shirt as they prepare to pull it off of her.

"Yes," she answers, resting her hands on his chest. She lifts up on tiptoe and kisses him. "Did you say you are in love with me?" she asks. His hands have found her bare skin beneath her still-on shirt and she is becoming very distracted.

"Mmm-hmm," he confirms, sliding his hands upward. Her skin is warm and smooth and _so_ soft.

"Oh, good," she replies. "Because I love you, too. I have for a while now."

He pulls her shirt over her head and lets it drop to the floor. Her words have caught his attention more than her nudity, and he stares into her eyes. "You have?"

She nods. "We've wasted a lot of time, Arthur," she says, taking his hands and placing them around her waist, stepping closer to him. "Years, I think."

"That is really too bad. We'll have to rectify that situation as soon as possible," he responds, kissing her and walking backwards until he feels his bed against the backs of his legs.

"Indeed," she agrees, moving his hands to the button on her jeans.

He opens the garment and slides it down her legs until she steps out of them. He drops several kisses on her body as he makes his way back up to her lips, pausing briefly to appreciate her breasts, kissing them lovingly, but briefly. "So beautiful," he whispers, dragging his lips up her chest to her neck, then her lips.

As they fall onto his large bed together in a tangled mass of kissing and touching, neither of them remembers their clothes (mostly Arthur's) are still downstairs, and it never occurs to them that Merlin is a very early riser.

However, the next morning, when Merlin heads down to put the kettle on and make himself a bit of toast with marmalade, he sees Arthur's clothes and Guinevere's bra and simply smiles. _It's about time._


	11. Sexy Dream

"Mmmwenev..."

Merlin pauses mid-stride as he walks to the king's bed to wake him for the day. His master is muttering in his sleep. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, but this utterance sounds different for some reason.

Arthur falls quiet again, and Merlin continues to the bed.

"Oh..."

Merlin raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the sleeping king before continuing over to the curtain.

"Guinev..."

Merlin stops one more, his hands frozen in place on the curtains. _Leave. Just go._ He feels his ears grow warm as he slowly starts to remove his fingers from the heavy drapes, but then he remembers Agravaine is expecting to meet with Arthur over breakfast. He steels himself for the angry awkwardness surely to come, and opens the curtains.

He walks over to the bed and pokes Arthur on the shoulder. He wishes he had a long stick to use, just in case he needs to make a hasty getaway. Arthur is a good king, a great man, and Merlin thinks of him as his friend, but most of the time he would rather wake a hibernating bear than the sleeping king.

Especially when the king is apparently dreaming about his favorite handmaiden. Merlin doesn't understand why he hasn't proposed marriage to her yet; he knows Arthur plans to do so. He thought that would have been one of the first things he did as king. He wonders, but knows better than to ask.

Arthur grumbles, turning away from the light, and Merlin pushes his shoulder. "Arthur."

The king shouts and flails about in bed for just a second, disoriented, which means he is immediately in attack mode. He suddenly sits up and Merlin leaps backwards, out of arms' reach.

"Merlin," he finally says, scowling. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Waking you up, Sire," Merlin answers. "As you asked me to do yesterday. You have a breakfast meeting with Lord Agravaine."

"Oh. Right." Arthur blinks, his brain shifting to reality and duty and responsibility. He looks away as he remembers what he was dreaming about before he was so rudely woken. _Guinevere. She was everywhere. Over, under, around me; and I, her._ The exact details of the dream evade him, but he knows enough to check that he won't embarrass himself before standing. He stretches, buying some time while thinking about his uncle to get his head – and his loins – back where they belong. "Ugh," he finally groans, running his hand through his hair and standing.

_Yes, I feel the same way about Agravaine._ "Not looking forward to breaking your fast with your uncle?" Merlin asks, making the Arthur's bed while he talks.

"Hmm?" Arthur replies, lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts that won't seem to go away. _Get a grip, man. It's not like you've never dreamt about her before._

Merlin decides to poke the bear. "You seem distracted this morning, my lord," he dryly comments, trying to keep the grin off of his face.

"The only thing distracting me, _Merlin_, is your prattle," Arthur snaps. "Now come and help me dress."

"Yes, Sire. Of course, Sire," Merlin obsequiously answers. Arthur impatiently begins pulling his shirt off, and when he his head disappears, Merlin adds, "I believe Gwen will be serving at breakfast." He can't help himself.

Arthur freezes for the barest moment, but Merlin catches it and grins, chuckling to himself. He quickly schools his features when the king's head comes back into view. "Well, of course she will be. I mean, what else would she be doing?" Arthur says, avoiding his servant's eyes as he tries to appear at ease.

_Really, Arthur. Is that the best you can do?_ Merlin decides to keep quiet, because the only thing he can think to say is, "If you would just marry her you wouldn't need to keep dreaming about her." Somehow, he thinks the comment would not be well-received.

xXx

"Really, Arthur, you really should consider the offer from Nemeth," Agravaine presses. "Rodor sent this message over a week ago, and you should reply." He waves a parchment. Arthur doesn't answer. "Arthur? _Arthur,_ are you listening?"

The king startles, seeming to have forgotten Agravaine was even there. "Sorry, Uncle. No, I wasn't listening," he says. Guinevere walks over and refills Lord Agravaine's goblet. She glances at Arthur, and he meets her eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away, his color rising. "You were saying something about Nemeth?" he mutters, poking his food on his plate. Guinevere is still too present in his thoughts, and now, seeing her, the memories of his dream are flooding back in. Being able to see her, be near her, smell her flowery scent is suddenly both torturous and wonderful.

"Honestly. You are King now. You really should pay closer atten—" Agravaine continues to chide him.

"I am not going to entertain the offer from Nemeth," Arthur snaps. His eyes flit to Guinevere again, uneasy for more than one reason. She has no idea that Rodor has suggested Camelot and Nemeth ally through the marriage of Arthur to Princess Mithian, and he doesn't wish to discuss it in her presence. Especially because he has absolutely no intention of marrying anyone other than Guinevere.

The other reason he is uneasy, of course, is the images from his dream keep appearing in his mind's eye. He doesn't remember all the details, so the images are mainly flashes. Her eyes, her lips, soft, light brown skin, her hands touching...

"It is a good offer, and we would gain much from it," Agravaine's irritating voice cuts into Arthur's thoughts once again. "I realize your," he pauses, clearing his throat, aware of his nephew's fondness for the beautiful serving girl who is currently refilling Arthur's goblet, "er, preference may be for—"

"Agravaine," Arthur interrupts, his voice quiet but with an edge like a knife.

The lord falls silent, scowling and quickly popping some food into his mouth. He watches Arthur for a moment. _He keeps glancing at the girl like he feels guilty about something. Surely not the alliance, if he says he is not going to go through with it. He watches her, but won't meet her eyes. Did he take her to his bed and regrets his actions? Did she turn him away?_ He looks at Guinevere. She is hovering, fulfilling her duty as a servant to the letter, as always. When she looks at Arthur, Agravaine can see her eyes soften with fondness. When she looks at Agravaine, they are filled with indifference bordering on mild disdain.

It is how most of the servants look at him, in fact. _Except for Arthur's other favorite. He regards me with undisguised loathing. Of course, I feel the same way about him..._

"Well," Agravaine says after a long, somewhat tense silence. "I don't think we're obliged to respond until a solid fortnight, so I'll let you think it over a bit longer," he says. "Your father would be quite pleased with this offer," he adds, just to twist the knife a little.

"My father is not here to be pleased, and this is not his kingdom anymore," Arthur retorts.

xXx

After breakfast, Arthur practically bolts for the training fields. Guinevere had hoped to get a moment with him after Lord Agravaine left, but Arthur exited first, leaving a confused Guinevere alone with Agravaine. Something she never enjoys.

"Thank you... Guinevere, is it?" the vile lord had asked. She knows he is well aware of her name; he was clearly taking his irritation with his nephew out on the maidservant. He paused a second longer and added, "You always perform your duties with such perfection. If only all our servants were as capable and efficient as you are." He placed his large, soft hand on Guinevere's shoulder and concluded with, "It is no wonder you are Arthur's favorite." He leered at her for a second, then swept from the room.

Guinevere shrugged off Agravaine's creepy behavior and went about busying herself until the end of training. She knows Arthur's schedule (Merlin keeps her informed), and tailors her duties to be able to be near him whenever possible. She passes the corridor she knows the knights use when they return from training, fresh linens in her arms, smiling and nodding at the men. Leon greets her by name; Gwaine winks at her, and Elyan pauses to talk with her a moment, asking how she is and if she will mend one of his shirts that Percival rent with his sword during the previous day's training.

"Yes, of course, just see that you get it to me," she says, her eyes searching for Arthur's familiar blonde head. Or even Merlin's familiar black one, as he is usually with the king, carrying his things.

"He went around," Elyan quietly tells her. "Took the east corridor instead. Don't know why."

"I wasn't—"

"Sure you weren't," her brother says with a smile. "He's in an odd mood today, I will say that. Distracted. Not himself. I managed to knock him down, and I _never_ manage to knock him down."

"Do you think he's taking ill?" she asks.

"I don't know. Maybe. He seemed healthy enough. Just... his mind wasn't on the task. Leon wanted to offer to take over for him, but he knew better than to suggest it," Elyan says with a chuckle. "I'm sure he's fine, Gwen."

_I'd know if I could see him._ "Probably just tired," she halfheartedly agrees. She watches her brother walk away, catching up with Percival, who is always last, and puzzles over Arthur's behavior today. _He would tell me if there was something wrong._ She remembers Agravaine's odd, cryptic comments about an offer from Nemeth this morning, and a rather unpleasant thought occurs. She shakes her head, dismissing it. _He would definitely tell me if he was thinking of marrying for the kingdom._

"Gwen?"

She wheels around to see Merlin standing there. "Merlin, you startled me..."

"Sorry. Gaius is wondering if you had any chamomile. He's running low," he explains, walking towards her.

"Yes, I think so. It's at home though," she absently answers.

"I'll walk with you. Arthur is in a mood."

"So I hear."

xXx

"Come."

Arthur's door creaks open, and Guinevere's face appears. "Arthur? May I come in?"

He sharply looks up. "Oh. Um. Of course," he answers. Normally, he would stand and meet her with a kiss on the cheek at the very least. He keeps his seat this time.

Guinevere wrings her hands. "Have I... have I done something that displeases you?" she quietly asks.

He had been avoiding her all day. Acted strangely at breakfast, went out of his way to avoid her before lunch, then dined alone in his chambers, even sending Merlin away.

Arthur deflates, feeling terrible. The dream he had that morning had really gotten under his skin. He knew he was behaving badly, but hadn't realized how deeply he had wound up hurting Guinevere.

"No, Guinevere, you haven't," he answers, standing. "You have been wonderful. As always." He walks over to her, but does not touch her.

She looks up at him. _He looks... afraid. Why is he afraid of me?_ "What's troubling you, Arthur?" she asks.

He regards her for a moment, then reaches past her to slide the bolt on the door, locking them in. Or, more accurately, locking everyone else out.

She is being soundly kissed, held close in his arms, before she even realizes he has turned back to face her.

"Arthur," she gasps, and he takes the opportunity to open his mouth against hers, kissing her deeply, more so than he usually does.

Guinevere melts into his embrace, hanging on to his shoulders, giving in to the passion of the moment. She trust him implicitly and knows he would never do anything to compromise her honor.

They've only kissed like this a few times – twice, in fact – but she feels something different in this kiss. Something new.

Desire. Raw, hungry desire.

It excites her, but frightens her just a little, and she quietly whimpers in the back of her throat as she clings to him.

Then, he is gone. The kiss is over just as suddenly as it started.

"Sorry," he apologizes, his voice rough. He is facing away from her.

Confused, she places her hand on his shoulder blade. "Arthur?" she asks. "What's the matter? You're... confusing me. And scaring me a little."

He turns around, catching her hand and kissing it. "I am sorry, Guinevere. I don't wish to frighten you. I'm a bit..." he exhales. _What am I?_

"The word I've been hearing a lot today is 'distracted'," she supplies, wrapping her fingers around his hand.

Arthur nods. "Come and sit with me." He leads her to a chair and sits beside her, looking down.

"Arthur, if you feel you need to cement an alliance with Nemeth by marrying the princess, I und—"

His head snaps up. "How did you know about that? I didn't mention it to you because I am going to decline, but..."

"I pieced it together from what I heard this morning," she quietly explains. "But if it's not that, what has got you so distracted? I hate to say it, but it feels like you've been avoiding me today."

"I have," he admits.

"Why?"

_Can I tell her? I cannot lie to her._ "I had a... _dream_ about you this morning," he softly says.

"Oh," she replies. Then, "_Oh,_" as realization dawns.

He nods. "I... I don't remember the _exact_ details... but I remember enough." His face feels warm, embarrassed to have to confess this to her.

"I see," she answers, her cheeks a bit flushed as well. "So you thought if you didn't see me..."

He nods. "And then I thought if I kissed you... but all that did was... well..." He nervously chuckles, dropping his head down again and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

Guinevere says nothing for a very long minute. "I didn't mind," she whispers.

Arthur looks up, eyes wide. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head, a small smile creeping across her face. "I'm not saying you should _always_ kiss me like that, but... sometimes... at _appropriate_ times... I might enjoy it." Her cheeks take on a still rosier hue, and now it is she who cannot meet his eyes.

"Guinevere," he speaks her name in a surprised whisper. "I... I said once that you always surprise me. It's good to see it still holds true." He chuckles, realizing he is feeling a little better. Not so scattered. _It helped to tell her._

She laughs with him, reaching for his hand. To _her_ surprise, he pulls her onto his lap and she makes a noise between a giggle and a yelp.

He caresses her cheek, then guides her lips towards his. "Don't be afraid," he whispers.

"I'm not," she replies. "I know my virtue is safe. I trust you."

"Good," he murmurs just before his lips meet hers again.

There is no more talking for a long while.


	12. Heat Wave

Arthur finds the tree marking the secret place and leads his horse into the thicket, intent on a cool drink in the hidden spring. He isn't expecting to nearly run smack into the six and a half foot tall wall that is his largest knight.

"Percival? What are you doing here?" he asks, stepping back.

"Standing guard, Sire," Percival answers.

Arthur's brows furrow, and he realizes he can hear some faint watery noises coming from the direction of the spring. _His_ spring.

Then it occurs to him that there is only one person Sir Percival would be guarding. He peers around the knight's shoulder, towards the spring. "Guinevere?" he asks, lowering his voice.

"The queen wished to cool off," Percival explains. "She was certain no one knew of this place, but as she is queen..."

"Thank you, Percival," Arthur replies, reaching up to give him a friendly pat on the arm. "You may go."

A very brief look of understanding crosses the large knight's face, and if it weren't already red from the oppressive heat, he probably would be blushing. "Thank you," he answers.

Arthur begins loosening his garments before Percival is fully out of sight. He moves silently, creeping as noiselessly as he can, pausing only to secure his horse to a tree with a whispered promise for a drink later.

He strips down to just his breeches, then peeks through the leaves. His beautiful wife is floating in the small pool, her plain white shift floating around her, her hair loose, held aloft in the water like a soft black cloud.

He smiles, shucks his trousers, and stealthily picks his way to the water's edge, praying she doesn't open her eyes.

Silent as a clever predator, he moves through the blessedly cool water until he reaches her head. In one swift move, he dips down, slides his arms around her, gently pulls her against him, and murmurs in her ear, "I did not know this was an enchanted pool."

Guinevere shrieks in surprise, then gasps, "Arthur!"

He presses his lips to hers, kissing her soundly. "I didn't know you knew this place," he says, keeping one hand around her waist while the other reaches up and slyly (so he thinks) slides the strap of her shift from her shoulder.

"Elyan and I used to come here as children," she says, her hands resting on his chest. She's been in the water long enough that they feel cool against his warm skin.

"Small wonder we never crossed paths then," he replies, bending to kiss her bared shoulder. "I used to come here as a child, too. With Mo— well, you know who with."

She kisses the slight frown from his lips. "Don't give her a thought right now. She is still nursing her wounds from being defeated again," she soothes, kissing him again, longer this time.

"I know, but—"

Guinevere's kisses interrupt him, and when she presses her body against his, all thought is forgotten.

His questing hands find the other strap, sliding it down, but going no further. He kisses down her neck, moving his hands down under her backside, where he lifts her and encourages her legs to wrap around his waist.

She does so and he hitches her higher still, kissing her breasts through the thin material. His lips are hot and she is cool, her nipples pebbled from the cold water and his attention.

"Arthur..." she breathes, fisting his hair and pulling it a bit, her eyes drifting closed. Her hair is dripping on him, but he doesn't notice, intent only on his Guinevere, his bride of only two weeks.

He hums a response against her, kissing a path from one breast to the other as he moves one hand to slide under the skirt of her shift beneath the water.

"We shouldn't," she feebly protests, his hand finding its goal, feeling her warmth in the cool spring. "Oh..."

"No one will find us," he murmurs, undeterred. "As long as you're quiet," he teasingly adds.

"Me!" she squeaks. "I'm not the one who—oh, mmm..."

Arthur chuckles against her skin, beginning to move out of the pool. "I intend to spread my cloak out on the grass," he whispers, moving back to kiss her lips, "and then spread you out on my cloak."

Guinevere blushes, still growing accustomed to this side of their relationship. She has learned he is very demonstrative in the bedchamber and seems to be far less shy of talking about these matters than she. "All right," is all she can think to say, finding herself on her feet for just a moment while Arthur tends to his cloak.

"Come here, Wife," he rumbles, pulling her close. He kisses her again and then reaches for her soaked shift, toying with it but not removing it. "I like how this clings to you," he comments, noting how the gauzy white linen hides almost nothing in its wet state. "It's very alluring." He reaches up and moves the straps back onto her shoulders.

"Arthur?" she asks, puzzled.

"I like how it reveals and conceals at the same time," he explains, plucking at the garment, pulling it away from her skin, then letting go, allowing it to wrinkle and cling in a new pattern. He pulls her against him again, cupping her backside as his lips find hers once more, and he guides them down onto his cloak.

"Your cloak is going to get all wet," she absently says, reaching up to run her fingers through his slightly damp hair.

"Do I look like I care one jot about the state of my cloak?" he asks, smiling devilishly down at her. He begins kissing down her body, sucking the water out of her shift as he kisses.

She quietly moans, amazed at how she can feel everything he is doing through the fabric. It even adds to the sensation at times, so much so that she doesn't notice him pushing her skirt upward.

His lips are already halfway up her thigh before she realizes where he's headed. "Arthur..." she shakily starts, torn between trying to stop him and giving into her carnal curiosity.

"Mmm," he replies, keeping to his path.

_I've heard talk of this, but I never thought people actually..._ "Oh!" she gasps, her body bucking upward. He holds her hips, steadying her as his tongue slides and sweeps, sending pleasure through her she never imagined. "Oh... Arthur..." she sighs, her fingers clutching his cloak on either side of her.

Just when Guinevere thinks she is about to burst, Arthur kisses her once more, then moves away, kneeling between her legs. He gazes down at her with a wolfish grin on his face for a moment, then drops down over her, catching her lips in a searing kiss.

He tastes strange, but it isn't unpleasant, and she moves her legs, lifting her knees and sliding one foot against his thigh, enticing and inviting.

"Take me in your hand," he murmurs, his lips brushing her ear.

She happily obeys, reaching down and closing her fingers – no longer cool – around his length, stroking him the way he showed her on their wedding night. He groans, a sound that makes her stomach quiver, and she finds herself moving him into place, wanting to feel him against her, inside her.

"Please," she whispers, and that is all he needs to hear. He drops his hips and plunges into her, drawing an "Oh!" in a strangled squeak from her. She can feel her wet shift bunched between them. She can feel his hand on her breast, his thumb toying with her nipple. She can feel his lips on her neck, her jaw, her ear, her lips. She can feel _him_, moving within her, the heat between them far greater than the blistering summer heat around them.

Arthur begins to move, knowing he won't last long. He enjoyed pleasing his wife very much and he is practically bursting with need as he thrusts into her with swift, urgent strokes. He kisses wherever he can reach, enjoying the feel of her hands on his body, pulling, grasping, sometimes scratching. He groans her name, gritting his teeth to hold on just a little longer.

Guinevere can feel the now-familiar warmth stealing over her, spreading from where they are joined. She lets it build, enjoying every moment, every touch, every kiss, until it becomes too much to bear and she gasps his name with her climax.

He immediately follows, spilling into her with a low grunt, his body a coiled spring. He relaxes a moment later, exhaling and collapsing over her.

She caresses his head, her fingers combing through his hair until he rolls off of her, half on the cloak, half in the grass.

"I came here to cool off in the spring," he says, chuckling. "I wound up working up more of a sweat." He reaches over and pulls her slowly drying shift down to cover her. "However, it was definitely worth it," he adds, rolling to his side and looking down at her. "I love you so much, Guinevere."

"I love you, Arthur," she replies, reaching up to caress his cheek. "And there's nothing that says you can't cool off now," she suggests. "In fact, I've grown overly warm again as well." She gives him a crafty smile.

"Is that so?" he asks, sitting up. He takes her hand and pulls her up as well.

"It is," she replies, pecking his lips once before darting away and jumping back into the water, her quickness surprising him.

"Guinevere!"


	13. Snowed In

_Knock, knock, knock._

Guinevere looks at the door, frowning at it. The wind is so strong it is rattling the door. It almost sounds like someone is knocking, it is clunking so much.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Her head snaps up from her mending. _Someone _is_ knocking. Who is out on a night like this?_ She tightens the shawl around her shoulders and goes to the door. She opens it carefully, trying not to let too much cold air in.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, immediately opening it enough for him to hurry inside. "You're freezing! Why aren't you in the castle?" She quickly removes his cloak, which is crusted with ice and snow, and grabs the blanket from her bed, wrapping it around him. "Let me get you something warm."

"I h-had a f-fight with F-father," he answers, his teeth chattering. "May I s-sit?"

"Please," she answers, stoking up the fire to warm her house and her guest. She puts some of the soup left over from earlier back on the fire to heat. "Sit on my bed. It'll be warmer," she says over her shoulder, tossing some more wood on.

Outside, the wind batters her small house and a window shutter bangs open. They both jump, and Guinevere hurries to secure the window once again.

"Sorry," she mutters, embarrassed.

"No need to be sorry," he quietly replies, concerned that her house may not be in good condition. _Is she warm enough here? Is she _safe_ here?_

She keeps her back to him, stirring the soup, her mind automatically drifting to the last time he was here, sitting on her bed_. It wasn't winter that time._ It seems so long ago, but it was really just over a year.

"You had a fight with your father?" she asks, knowing it isn't the best topic of conversation, but it's something.

"Yes," he answers, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, still shivering.

She walks over and sees his boots are soaking wet and covered in melting snow. She kneels before him and begins removing them.

"Guinevere..."

"You are going to catch your death if you sit in wet boots. I'll bet your socks are wet, too. We can hang them by the fire to dry," she says, pulling them off in her usual efficient manner. "I think I have another blanket," she says. "Up." She pats his foot.

He obediently lifts his feet onto the bed, rearranging the blanket to cover as much of himself as he can while she disappears behind a curtain, into the area in which she slept when he stayed with her during that tournament.

She returns, covers him with the other blanket, and goes to fetch the soup.

"He's frustrated because we can't find Morgana and he's taking it out on me. Brought up nearly everything I've done over the past few years that has displeased him," Arthur says. "Thank you," he adds, accepting the bowl. "Sit with me?"

Guinevere sits, perching at the edge of the bed until she notices he is still shivering. Instinctively, she moves closer to him, wrapping her arm around him. "You're still so cold," she says.

"It feels like it's in my bones," he agrees. "This is good." He nods at the bowl, which he lifts to his lips, not bothering with a spoon.

"Thank you," she absently answers, then moves around behind him, hitching up her skirts enough to place one leg on either side of him. She knows it is rather indecent, but she can't think of any other way to try to warm him up without lying down. She leans against the wall, ignoring the cold hardness against her back, and gently pulls him back to rest against her.

He settles in without spilling any soup. "Thank you," he says again. "You are too good to me. After all I've put you through."

"Eat," she quietly prompts.

He understands, and obeys. When he finishes the bowl, he sets it aside, then says, "He said I was irresponsible and impulsive," Arthur continues. "Letting myself be guided by my 'idiot serving boy' and 'caring too much about those beneath my concern'. He brought up Vivian again. I tried explaining that I was enchanted, but he didn't care. Said I was 'thinking with—' um, never mind that. He said terrible things." He pauses and adds, "I may have said a few terrible things, too."

Guinevere is silent, stunned at the king's arrogant, small-minded nature, but very mindful that she should not speak ill of the king. _I know I can speak freely with Arthur, but Uther is still his father._ She tightens her arms around him without thinking. "You're still cold," she whispers.

"I was out there a long time. Since before dinner," he says. "I didn't realize a storm was coming. Then it came in so fast and strong I could hardly see. I found your house by pure luck."

"It took us all by surprise," she says. The wind picks up again, and her window shutter rattles ominously, but stays latched.

"You should have told me your house needs attention, Guinevere," he quietly says. He shifts slightly, like he is trying to get closer to her. To her warmth.

She adjusts the blankets, tucking them higher around his neck. Thankfully, his hair was dry, covered by his cloak, but he has still caught a terrible chill.

"It's not that important," she answers.

"How long has that window needed repair?" he asks, trying to turn and look at her.

"Arthur, it's—"

"Guinevere. How long?" he presses.

"I first noticed it when the weather turned cold," she admits. "I did not wish to trouble you. If I had the tools, I'd fix it myself."

He turns to look at her. "Guinevere," he repeats her name, more tenderly now, "I meant what I said when I told you to let me know if there was anything you needed. The passage of time has not made my words any less true."

It has been nearly two years since her father died and the prince surprised her with his heartfelt condolences. So much has happened since then that she is surprised he remembers the promise he made.

"I am sorry, my lord," she answers, finding herself a bit unsettled by his proximity. _It was easier when he wasn't looking at me._

He sighs, disheartened at her use of his title. "Do not apologize," he says. "But let me send someone to fix your window tomorrow."

"It doesn't have to be tomorrow," she replies, then, seeing the look on his face, quickly amends, "but tomorrow would be lovely. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure," he answers. His gaze drop to her lips for a moment, so close and so tempting. He hesitates, the "My lord" a moment ago still fresh in his mind.

"Arthur?" she whispers, sensing his unease but unaware of what has caused it.

That was all he needed to prompt him to move his head the few inches necessary to press his lips to hers. He finds the action does wonders to warm him up, so he lingers as long as he can.

"Arthur..." Guinevere gasps once he finally releases her lips. "We shouldn't."

He worms a hand free and brings it to her cheek. "I know," he agrees, but kisses her again, shorter this time. "I shouldn't even be here."

"But you cannot go out in that storm," she says, her head beginning to slowly spin.

"I may have to stay the night."

"It isn't proper."

"I've done it before."

"I know."

They both seem to be arguing with each other and themselves, each bringing up points on both sides of the issue.

"I don't see that we have much choice." It is Guinevere who finally says it. "I will sleep over—"

"No. It's far too cold. You cannot sleep on the floor, you'll freeze," Arthur says. "Your bed is narrow, but... I do not mind being close to you."

_Is it cold?_ She certainly doesn't feel cold. She looks at him, looks into his eyes. "All right," she says, her voice barely audible.

"You know you can trust me, right?" he quietly asks, beginning to shift them so they are lying down. "I would never..."

She nods, her heart pounding. She has a feeling she won't be getting much sleep. "I should put more wood on the fire," she whispers.

He opens his arms and allows her up. She scurries across and sets more logs on the fire. She putters, taking longer than necessary to take care of the soup pot and Arthur's bowl, checking the door and window. Then she secures her hair in a single braid before standing a moment in the middle of her house, trying to think of something else to do.

Arthur says nothing throughout this whole process, knowing she is stalling but knowing he cannot push. He will not. Finally, he says, "Guinevere."

She turns and faces him a moment. "Are you still cold?" she asks, stepping forward.

"Yes," he truthfully answers.

She joins him on the bed, slipping in beside him and allowing him to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

"Goodnight, Guinevere," he says.

"Goodnight... my lord," she replies, sounding very much like she did the first time he stayed with her. Then, a moment later she corrects herself. "Goodnight, Arthur."

xXx

_Knock, knock, knock._

Guinevere stirs, then her eyes pop open. She's staring at Arthur's chest.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

The knocking that woke her is more insistent now.

"Gwen!" a voice hisses on the other side of the door.

"Merlin?" she groggily asks, untangling herself from a grumbling and half-asleep Arthur, which proves no easy task. She cracks the door open. The sun is barely up, but the sky is clear.

"Have you seen— oh, thank God," Merlin says, peeking past her and spotting his master's blonde head on the pillow.

"Nothing happened," Guinevere hastily – too hastily – says.

"I know," Merlin replies, unconcerned. He jostles Arthur. "Arthur. Wake up. We need to get you back to the castle before your father wakes."

"Is he still angry?" Arthur says, rolling over while Guinevere gathers his now-dry socks and cloak for him.

"Probably. But if he learns you're here he definitely will be. Come _on._"

Arthur quickly gets himself together, but pauses before leaving. "Thank you, Guinevere. You saved my life."

She smiles, doubting very much that he would have died in the cold. _He would have found his way to the castle._ "You're welcome, Arthur," she says.

He glances at the impatient Merlin, gives Guinevere one last kiss, then sweeps out of the door.

"Thanks," Merlin says, giving her a small smile before following.

Later that morning, two workmen from the castle arrive with new shutters for all of Guinevere's windows.


	14. Sex Pollen

"Thank you, they're lovely," Guinevere says, accepting the vase of flowers from a page. _He must be new_. The queen knows all of the servants, but new ones arrive every week or so. Still, she makes a mental note to learn the name of this young man.

"Who was that?" Arthur asks.

"A page with some flowers," she declares, holding the vase aloft for a moment before setting it on the table.

"Who from?" He walks over to join her at the table. It seems to be a perfectly nice arrangement of flowers.

"They're not from you?"

"No, I... I don't think so anyway. I may have offhandedly said something to Merlin which he took as an order. Probably not, with the way he listens, but that doesn't mean it's not possible," Arthur reasons.

"Well, they're beautiful regardless," Guinevere decides, leaning over to inhale their scent. "Sweet."

He leans over as well, takes a sniff, and makes a noncommittal grunt. "If you are happy, then I am happy," he says, pulling her into his arms.

"I am happy," she replies, lifting her face to his and meeting him in a kiss.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against him and lingering over her lips longer than either of them were expecting, surrendering to the sudden wave of desire that swept over him.

They almost don't hear the knock at the door. "Arthur," Guinevere says, freeing her lips only long enough to say the words, fighting against her growing arousal. "Door."

"Mmm-hmm," Arthur absently responds, then the words seem to sink in. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. "Oh. What is it, Merlin?" he calls, and the door opens.

Merlin is unfazed at seeing the queen in the king's arms, as it is nearly an everyday occurrence. "Round Table meeting," he says. "You're late," he adds, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of reproach. He glances at the flowers and makes a puzzled face for just a moment before schooling his features again. _Probably nothing. You're just jumpy because it's been too quiet around here._

"Merlin," Arthur replies, loosening his hold on his wife, "I am the king. I am not late. Everyone else is... early."

"Whatever you say, Sire," Merlin answers. "But everyone else is already _there._"

"We were just heading down," Guinevere answers, taking her husband's arm. He places his hand over hers and she feels a jolt of desire course through her. She blinks in surprise, looking up at Arthur. He seems to be clenching his jaw and breathing a bit more heavily than usual. When he looks down at her, the pupils of his blue eyes are blown wide with lust.

"We should have feigned illness and stayed in," he murmurs.

"We have responsibilities... tempting though that thought is..." she quietly replies, her voice a trifle huskier than usual.

Arthur is surprised at her agreement. Usually she is quite insistent on following protocol and adhering to the rules, likely due to the fact that she still feels she needs to prove herself as queen. Not to the commoners, but to the court, who have been far more critical and slower to accept her.

"I seem to only have one thing on my mind right now... and it is definitely not this meeting," he whispers outside the doors to the great hall, his lips brushing her ear as he does so, his tongue flicking out against her skin for a fraction of a second.

She bites her lower lip, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She feels hot – more so in some places than others – and distracted. _Gather your wits, Guinevere._

Merlin opens the doors and they walk in. He pulls the queen's chair out for her and she sits, followed by the king.

"I presume we are ready to begin?" Arthur asks, pre-empting any comments or questions about their tardiness. He shifts in his seat, attempting to get comfortable. There is a very slight draft in the room, and he is downwind of his wife. He is finding her scent to be quite distracting.

"Yes, Sire," Sir Leon answers, picking up a rather large sheaf of parchment. Gwaine doesn't bother to muffle his groan, and the senior knight shoots him a glare before launching into his lengthy – and mind-numbingly dry – reports on the state of the kingdom.

Guinevere glances at Arthur, slowly licking her lips. _I want you so badly right now._

Arthur bites his lower lip, then gradually releases it. _If this room were empty I would have you on this table._

"...if that is all right with you, of course. My lord?" Leon's voice drifts into Arthur's consciousness.

"Yes, that's fine," Arthur answers, not knowing to what he's just agreed, but he trusts Leon, so it's likely fine. He coughs, shifting his chair a couple of inches closer to his wife at the same time. Next, he thoughtfully rubs his chin, then drops his hand onto his lap. _What is wrong with me? I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't. I'm going to, but I shouldn't. I just... need..._

Despite his conflicting thoughts, his hand creeps over to Guinevere's knee, where he begins crawling his fingers into her skirts, gradually pulling them up.

He expects her to stop him. She doesn't. In fact, she scoots her chair closer to the table to give them more cover. Then she moves her left knee closer to him.

Guinevere clasps her hands in front of her on the table, her fingers clenching so tightly that her knuckles pale a bit. _I shouldn't be encouraging him. We are in the middle of a meeting and we are going to get caught._ When his fingers make contact with her knee, she holds her breath. When they move higher, above the top edge of her stocking, she bites the insides of her cheeks. _We are going to get caught... yet that somehow makes it seem more exciting._ The thought surprises her. She's never been daring or promiscuous or even slightly disobedient. _I just... need..._

Leon drones on. Arthur's fingers creep higher, callused pads skimming up her inner thigh beneath the table. Gwaine yawns. The king's hand reaches its target, so hot and so wet he nearly comes in his trousers. Merlin quietly slips from the room, something prickling at the back of his mind. Arthur slides a single finger along his wife's folds, biting his lip to maintain control. Percival leans back in his chair and nudges Elyan, who nods his thanks to the other knight. Guinevere's eyes close for a moment and she wills her breathing to be steady.

Across the table, one of the older lords watches the king and queen with more interest than strictly necessary, but he cannot tell for certain if the enchanted flowers he arranged to be brought to the royal chambers are having any effect. He forgot to account for how dreadfully boring this particular meeting – a monthly joint meeting of the Council and the senior knights – usually is, and many of the attendees, including their rulers, have adopted various methods to keep themselves appearing interested. Or, in Gwaine's case, awake.

It seems his plan to expose the base, vulgar nature of the king's association with the handmaiden may not come to fruition. He yawns behind his hand, trying to keep his eyes open and on his targets.

"Now on to issues from the outlying villages," Leon continues, pausing only a moment for a drink of water to freshen his throat.

Arthur's long, dextrous fingers slide in and out, up and down, teasing and caressing the soft, pliant flesh between Guinevere's legs. He notices the First Knight looking towards him, and he manages a nod.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Leon asks, brows furrowed with concern.

The king has the presence of mind to stop his ministrations so his wife can speak. "Yes... thank you, Sir Leon," she answers.

The knight nods, returns to his parchments, and Arthur's fingers begin moving again. Guinevere wishes her arms were longer so she could reach beneath the table and return the favor, to wrap her strong, slender fingers around her husband's shaft and stroke him, give him the pleasure he is giving her. She briefly (for that is all she can manage) contemplates dropping something on the floor so she could climb under the table and take him in her mouth, but knows she would be down there far longer than necessary or proper. Not to mention the queen should not be crawling beneath tables at all.

Instead, she clenches her hands, knowing she's leaving marks on the backs with her fingernails, which have been allowed to grow a bit now that she is not doing manual labor. She wants to rake those longer fingernails down her husband's back and make him groan.

She wants him to fill her again and again until she is sore and no longer able to walk. _I want... I need..._

She clenches her jaw as she climaxes, hot and pulsing, around Arthur's fingers, slamming her knees together as gracefully as she can to stop his relentless fingers.

He drags the wet digits across her thigh, leaving a cool trail as the moisture dries. He wants to bring them to his lips and lick off every drop of her. He wants to slide below the table and bury his face between her thighs and drink every drop of her.

He wants to have her on the table, under the table, against the wall, in the alcove, on the throne, on every imaginable surface and in every imaginable way. _I want... I need..._

Leon pauses, and Arthur glances at his wife. She is still flushed, and squirms a little in her seat, obviously (to him) still aroused and needy. "Sir Leon, I believe you are right. Queen Guinevere does not seem to be feeling well at all," he says, turning his eyes to his wife and giving her a very pointed look.

"Yes, I am sorry," she agrees, playing along. "I did not wish to interrupt the proceedings or disrupt this very important meeting."

"No, no; your health is much more important," Leon says, setting his remaining parchments on the table. His comments are met with murmurs of general agreement, many simply agreeing out of a desire to be done with the meeting.

"We will adjourn then, and if there are any pressing matters, Leon, please... leave the appropriate parchments with Merlin and he will..." Arthur pauses, looking around. "Merlin? Where is he?"

"I will find him, Sire," Leon says. "Please, see to the queen."

The king nods and slyly adjusts his trousers so as not to embarrass himself on standing. Even so, he stands and quickly turns, holding his hand out to Guinevere.

When she stands, she wavers a bit, and the others perceive this to be a symptom of her illness. She takes Arthur's arm and heavily leans on him.

"Thank you," she breathes once they are out of earshot. "I do not know what has come over me, but all I want to do is..."

"I feel the same way. All I can think about is being with you... alone," he agrees, now moving swiftly through the corridor. They burst into the royal chambers to find Merlin studying the flowers. "Out!" he orders.

Merlin, wide-eyed with surprise, nods and scurries from the room, leaving them alone. He takes the flowers with him, fairly certain the king and queen won't notice the disappearance of the dubious gift. "They are not to be disturbed for the rest of the day. King's orders," he says to the guards posted outside. Grateful the flowers are enchanted specifically for Arthur and Guinevere, he carries them into Gaius' quarters.

"Now, Arthur, now," Guinevere pants, hopping up onto the table and hoisting her skirts up as he frees himself from his trousers.

"Yes," he agrees, delving into her as soon as he can, still mostly dressed. "Ohhhh, yes..." he groans, eyes blissfully closed as he finally is able to quench the thirst that has been plaguing him for the last hour.

"Harder," she commands, grabbing the front of his shirt, trusting him to keep her from falling off of the table. "More."

He grunts and complies, pounding furiously into her, using much more force than normal. He needs this and knows she does as well.

"Oh!" Guinevere gasps, and they both reach their peak quite quickly. "Oh, mmm..."

"Guinevere," Arthur mumbles, wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head on her shoulder. "What was that?"

"I don't know," she answers. He slides out of her and she immediately misses him. She wants – _needs_ – him back inside of her. "Oh, but—"

"It's not done yet," he finishes, turning his head to suck on her neck, his hands moving to the laces on the back of her dress. "I need to get this dress off of you. Now."

xXx

"What kind of spell?" Gaius asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Some kind of... love spell," Merlin answers, flipping through a book.

"Why would someone put a love spell on Arthur and Gwen? Everyone knows they already love each other?"

Merlin looks up. "Not that kind of love," he drily states, staring hard at Gaius with a very definite don't-make-me-spell-it-out-for-you look on his face.

Gaius' eyes widen. "Oh," he says, understanding. "Goodness. But... why?"

"I don't know. I need to find the source of the magic."

"Morgana is the most likely candidate," the older man suggests.

"Yes, but she would be working with someone inside the castle," Merlin replies. "All I know is Arthur and Gwen will be very... busy for a while."

"Don't these sort of spells usually wear off after... you know?"

"There are six flowers in this vase, Gaius," Merlin answers. "From what I can tell, that means one flower per... um... encounter."

"Oh, my."

Merlin grunts a response, then closes the book with a thud before stomping up to his room for his _other_ book.

xXx

"Oh, yes!" Guinevere cries out, no longer caring if anyone outside the doors to their chambers hears her. This is her fourth orgasm since they returned to their chambers.

After the interlude on the table, they very nearly tore one another's clothes off, impatient to begin anew. Arthur bent his wife over a bench and took her from behind, another new experience for them. Three minutes after they finished there he lifted her into his arms and braced her back against a wall, delving into her while standing. They finally made it to the bed after that, where Queen Guinevere of Camelot rode King Arthur like he was a stallion needing to be broken.

She collapses on his chest, both breathing heavy and covered in sweat. "Oh, I'm tired," she breathes.

"Yes," he concurs. "I mean... this is all very enjoyable and all, but... a nap might be nice."

"Mmm," she hums her agreement, unconsciously nuzzling his chest. "Mmm," she hums again as her lips begin kissing his chest. "I don't think we're done yet." She licks, bites, and again licks his nipple, drawing a groan from him.

"No, we aren't," he rumbles. "Where are you going?" he asks, lifting his head as she works her way down his chest instead of up.

"I need... a break..." she says between kisses. "Getting sore... in a good way... but sore."

He gropes for her. "Oh, at least flip around so I can... yes, that's it, come here," he says, smiling as she swings her backside around towards his face, once again lying on top of him, her legs on either side of his head. "Oh, yes," he purrs when her lips slide over his shaft, sucking him into her mouth. "Just like that, Guinevere."

She's only done this for him one other time, and was rather shy about it. Not so this time. She devours him, licking, sucking, and even biting lightly, delving one hand down to cup and squeeze below. She falters when she feels him spread her lips and slide his tongue into her folds.

"Arthur," she whispers, then returns her mouth to his manhood, unable to stop now that she's started.

Arthur hums against her swollen, over-sensitized flesh, adding another sensation. He alternates swirling his tongue around her sensitive button and slipping it inside her. He can taste both of them and he is vaguely aware that his face is getting _very_ wet, but none of that matters. The only thing that matters right now is _her_, bringing her as much pleasure as she is bringing him.

"Oh," Guinevere gasps, pulling her lips away as she feels herself coming close to her peak again, and she pushes her hips back, chasing the sensation as her husband circles her nub with his tongue, then reaches up and slips two fingers inside of her. "Ohhhmmmmm..." she moans as she takes him in again, sucking harder, more urgently, wanting to feel the throbbing of his release in her mouth.

Arthur falls first this time, his hips bucking up into her as his release rushes forth and down the queen's throat. His fingers and tongue stop only momentarily, then resume with renewed vigor as he licks and strokes her to completion a very short time later.

xXx

"Lord Brentley," Merlin says, returning to Gaius' chambers. "I got confirmation from Myla, Upton, and Breena, who all saw the lord talking to a page they had never seen before," he explains. The kitchen maid, the stable boy, and the laundress' middle daughter are three of the most trustworthy servants in the castle, and with Gaius confirming the use of magic, they may have enough evidence. "And yes, Gwaine and Percival are already looking for this mysterious page," Merlin adds, knowing he is the missing piece of the puzzle.

"Good. Where is Lord Brentley now?" Gaius asks.

"Sir Leon is on his way to his house," Merlin answers.

xXx

"I feel..."

"Better."

"Yes. The... burning need isn't there."

Arthur and Guinevere are lying bonelessly on the bed, sprawled, tangled, and completely exhausted after their sixth encounter. He is still on top of her, still inside her, but neither of them feels the need to move.

"I may not be able to walk tomorrow," Guinevere comments. Arthur is growing heavy, but she cannot summon the energy to tell him.

"You're the queen. You don't have to walk if you don't want to," he replies, kissing the nearest patch of skin.

"Good." She lifts one hand and lets it fall against his head, her fingers toying with his damp hair. "So you think this was some kind of enchantment? The... neediness; the complete, um, uninhibitedness?"

He nods. "I am not sure if we should punish the person responsible or thank him. Or her."

She huffs a small laugh, knowing exactly what he means. Despite the soreness, the exhaustion, the desperation, it was kind of... fun. "You don't think less of me for how I behaved?" she asks.

He lifts his head, which takes a remarkable effort. "Why on earth would I?" he asks.

She bites her lower lip. "Because I... I enjoyed myself. Rather a lot," she admits. "I... I liked being that free with you. Not worrying about what is proper behavior because... because I _couldn't_ worry about that." She averts her eyes. "I don't know any queens, but I do not think my behavior—"

"Guinevere," he interrupts her, his voice soft and tender, "I do not think less of you in any way. Even if we weren't under a spell, you... you may be as free as you like with me. I want you to. I want you to enjoy this as much as I do. And if you want to be a little... daring... from time to time, well, then I want that, too."

"Thank you, Arthur," she replies. "But right now, all I want to do is sleep."

"That is a very good idea." He finally moves off of her and onto his own pillow, pulling the blankets up over them. The light is growing dim outside, and he knows they should probably summon Merlin and have him bring them dinner soon, but like his wife, all he wants to do is sleep. He spoons behind her and whispers, "I love you, Guinevere."

"I love you, Arthur," she answers, and in moments, they are both asleep.

xXx

After a few hours of much-needed slumber, Arthur wakes in a confused stupor. He carefully climbs out of bed so as not to wake Guinevere and sees night has fallen. He uses the chamber pot, then something catches his eye on the floor near the door, where a shaft of light from the corridor illuminates the stones. He staggers over and picks it up.

_Arthur and Gwen, the flowers were enchanted. The culprit has been locked in the dungeons and will be waiting for you whenever you are ready to deal with him. You have probably already figured out what you need to do to lift the enchantment, but it will take six times to completely undo it. No one will disturb you until morning. -Merlin._

Arthur reads the note twice, then sets it on the table so he remembers to show it to Guinevere. He shuffles back to bed, deciding everything will wait until tomorrow, pulls his wife into his arms, and falls back into an exhausted sleep.


	15. Tending a Wound in a Delicate Area

"Guinevere, why didn't you say you were injured?" Arthur asks, coming to join her where she is seated by the fire.

"It's nothing," she answers, setting her bowl beside her. "How did you know?"

He raises his eyebrows slightly, then says, "I know how you move. How you carry yourself, walk, talk, stand, sit... I would be able to identify your footfalls in the corridor from—"

"A hundred paces?" she asks with a smile.

He nods, returning her smile. "And blindfolded as well. You are trying very hard not to move your left side."

Guinevere sighs and looks down. "It's just a scratch," she says. She didn't even notice the injury right away. She was so overjoyed to see Arthur standing there behind the fallen Lamia beast that the twinge she felt just after she fell ceased to be of any importance. Then she was so busy tending her brother and the other knights that it slipped her mind that she also needed attention.

"Let me see," he says, glancing over at the others. Merlin is in conversation with Gwaine. Percival and Elyan seem to be discussing sword techniques. Leon is politely listening to Agravaine expound on something that appears to be tremendously boring.

"Arthur, it's n—"

"Guinevere, you have tended my wounds so many times I've lost count. Please allow me to see to your injury. The last thing you need is for this 'scratch' to become infected," he presses.

She looks around. "We would need to go somewhere else. It's not in an area I am comfortable exposing to this lot," she says, nodding at the others.

"All right. Let me grab Merlin's bag," he says. She watches as he crosses over and says a few words in Merlin's ear. The servant nods, gives a short reply, and hands him the bag.

Guinevere stands and she and Arthur walk away from the camp, into the woods, until they find a small clearing where the sun is shining brightly. There is a large rock, and he guides her to sit down on it.

He helps her remove her cloak and immediately sees the blood on her tunic. He kneels down beside her and frowns at it.

"It was already ruined," she comments, looking down at the jagged hem, where she had torn strips of cloth to mark their path for him.

"That was brilliant of you, leaving that trail for me," he says. "I will replace your tunic as soon as we are back in Camelot." He bends down, looking at the tear in the middle of the blood stain.

"That's really not necessary, but thank you," she replies, knowing her protests will not stop him from replacing her garment, but also knowing he is not giving her special treatment. He would do the same for anyone.

He gingerly plucks at her blouse, not wanting to just lift it up to take a look. _That would not be proper._ She realizes this as well, so she reaches down and lifts it up enough to expose the wound. Arthur winces slightly, realizing he is only affected by it because the injury is on _her._ He's certainly seen more serious, bloody, and grotesque injuries. He's seen limbs sliced off. He's seen people disemboweled. He's seen people killed.

But a two-inch cut in Guinevere's side makes him wince.

"Is it bad?" she asks, trying to look.

"It doesn't look too bad. Let's give it a clean," he says. He reaches for a skin of water and wets a cloth, then gently dabs.

"Oh! It's cold!" she gasps, jumping slightly.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"It's all right. Can't be helped," she exhales, relaxing again.

As he cleans the skin around the wound, her smooth, soft skin comes into view. He suddenly becomes conscious of exactly where he is touching her. His eyes wander a moment, taking in the soft, flat plane of her stomach. _I wonder what it would feel like against my lips?_

"Arthur?"

His eyes snap up to hers. "Hmm? Oh." He finishes the surrounding area, then wets a clean spot on the cloth to very carefully clean the actual wound.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers. "Mostly," he admits. "I've never seen... um... you are a bit distracting, that's all."

"Wha—? Oh. Um, I'm sorry," she replies, feeling her cheeks heat. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing.

"It is I who should be apologizing," he says. "I should not let my eyes wander so. Forgive me." He ducks his head and gives her cut one final dab.

"You do not need to apologize, Arthur," she says. "I... I suppose it is normal that you would..."

Arthur turns away for a moment, returning with a bandage. "It is a... new experience for me," he quietly admits. "Being this close to a woman's... to _your, _um, midsection. Uncovered midsection."

Guinevere doesn't miss the small adjustment he made to his statement. _He has never been with a woman _that_ way._ The realization only surprises her a little. She knows the man he is now is honorable and wouldn't simply take advantage of a woman to slake his own lust, but she wasn't sure about the youth he once was. The young man she thought to be a boorish, spoiled prince. _Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps that was all bravado. _"Good thing the cut isn't any higher then," she says with a weak laugh, hoping to lighten the tension with a little humor.

Her attempt doesn't work. He sharply inhales at the thought, realizing how much more of her would have to be exposed in that case, realizing _which_ part of her would be exposed. "Um... the cut isn't bad," he says his voice quiet. "I don't think it will need stitches." His fingers fumble with the rolled bandage and he nearly drops it. He recovers quickly and begins wrapping the bandage around her torso. Once he finishes, he leans back, grateful for the distance even though he really wants to remain close. "It's not pretty, but it should hold until we get to Camelot."

She quickly drops her shirt over her stomach, blocking her skin from view once again. Arthur seems to relax once she is properly covered. "Well, you did see _quite_ a bit of me not too long ago..." he muses, a smile creeping over his face.

"Oh! I..." she exclaims, her cheeks darkening in a lovely, deep pink flush. "That was... a misunderstanding..." she stammers.

He laughs, clearly untroubled, and she gradually joins in until they are both laughing quite hard at the awkward memory.

"Oh, ow, I shouldn't laugh so hard," she says, her hand moving to hold her injured side.

"Sorry," he apologizes again, his expression turning soft as he gazes at her. He lifts up on his knees, gently touches her chin with his fingertips, and guides her lips to meet his in a soft, lingering kiss. He wishes they could take longer, to have more time alone, but he pulls back with a sigh. "We should head back before your brother comes look—"

"Gwen? Sire?" As if on cue, Elyan's voice reaches their ears.

"Over here," Guinevere calls, a knowing smile on her face.

Sir Elyan appears a moment later, hand resting on the handle of his sword with feigned ease. "We... um, we became concerned when you were gone for so long," he says.

Guinevere tilts her head and gives him a knowing look.

"All right, _I_ became concerned," he admits.

Arthur stands, not offended in the slightest by Elyan's concern for his sister. "Elyan, I assure you I have only the most honorable intentions," he says. It is not the first time he has had this conversation with the knight.

Elyan smiles a slightly guilty smile. "I know, Sire. It's... well, you may be the king, but she _is_ my sister..."

"Understood," Arthur replies, clapping the knight on the shoulder. He turns and offers Guinevere his hand, which she takes and stands. He picks up her cloak and helps her put it back on.

"Thank you for your concern, Elyan," she says, looping her free hand into the crook of her brother's arm before allowing both men to escort her back to the camp, which has now been cleared and packed up for them to continue on their journey home.

xXx

Many months later, on their wedding night, the first thing Arthur does when his new wife is finally bared to him, lying like a goddess on the royal bed, is to find the small scar on her side with his lips, gently kissing it before moving to trail more kisses across her stomach, discovering the answer to his question.


	16. Professor - Student AU

Dr. Guinevere Thomas looks over her class roster for her early morning Tuesday/Thursday Business Ethics class, scanning the names. The class is one of those split undergrad/graduate level classes, so she will have a few students pursuing their advanced degrees in with the undergrads. This semester she has two. Someone named Briana Sanchez and one Arthur Pendragon.

Arthur Pendragon. The Pendragon name in itself makes Gwen's blood start to boil. She only knows him by reputation, but his father, Uther Pendragon, is one of the most powerful and _least_ ethical businessmen in the country, if not the world.

_Why the hell is Arthur Pendragon taking my class? Why would he take Business Ethics?_

She doesn't know. All she knows is Uther Pendragon put her father out of work 15 years ago. All she knows is Arthur Pendragon is a rich snob with more money than sense, based on the tidbits of information she's seen. All she knows is she doesn't want him in her class.

xXx

He sits in the back of the classroom. _Predictable_. In the very back of her mind, she hears her gran's voice chiding her for passing judgment without having all the facts. _But Gran never met the Pendragons,_ she justifies.

He is quieter than she expected, but it is only the first class. She tries to treat him the same as the other students, but she finds her eyes moving to him, gauging his reactions to some of the things she is saying, waiting for... something. For him to act like the spoiled posh heir to the throne of Pendragon Industries she believes him to be.

When the class ends, he merely gives her a nod and a slight smile, and exits, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Just like any other student.

Gwen bristles nevertheless.

xXx

Arthur remains quiet for the next few classes. He continues to sit in the back of the room. He is attentive, but says little.

Guinevere wonders if he plans on just skating through the class, doing the bare minimum just to fulfill the requirement. He doesn't participate much, but appears to be paying attention. That puzzles her a bit. _I need to figure him out._

Unfortunately, figuring him out is proving difficult. She can't tell if he's intentionally trying to keep a low profile or if he is staying aloof because he thinks he's better than everyone else, including her.

Occasionally, she feels guilty for thinking negative things about him. _You don't know him,_ she chides herself. _Maybe he really is trying to do better than his father,_ the little voice says.

_We'll see what happens when we really start getting into the material._

xXx

"Outsourcing has its purpose." His voice is clear, but not loud, ringing out from the back of the room. It's the first thing he's _really_ said in class. "If the work can be done at a less expensive rate, then the company can pass those savings on to the customers."

Guinevere's surprise at his contribution is short lived. "And what of the employees who lose their jobs? Do those same 'savings' get passed on to them?" _Don't let him bait you. Don't lose your temper._

"Ah, but what of the people in lesser developed countries who _gain_ jobs?" he counters.

"In what kind of working conditions?"

"Working conditions that comply with the regulations of that country's government, of course," he answers a little too casually.

"Hey, Pendragon, didn't your da's company do something like that? Close some local factories to outsource production to, like, the Ukraine?" another student chimes in. Arthur scowls a bit but says nothing.

"Mr. Mackenzie, you've studied. I'm impressed," Gwen says, grateful for the third voice. "You would have been very young when that happened."

"I've done some reading," undergrad student Gwaine Mackenzie replies. "I'm not just another pretty face, you know," he adds, flipping his hair. A few young ladies in his vicinity giggle, and one blushes.

Guinevere rolls her eyes and presses on. "I do try _not_ to mention specific company names in my examples, but, yes, Pendragon Industries did do that very thing. And can anyone tell me why _this_ particular example was unethical?"

"It was unethical because the board of directors gave themselves fat raises right before they closed up shop in... two different factories," the other grad student, Briana, replies. She is a friendly woman, older than Gwen, and is going for her graduate degree in the hopes it will garner her the promotion for which she is striving.

"Exactly," Guinevere says. "When those in charge care for little else than keeping themselves in the manner to which they've become accustomed while pulling the rug out from underneath the men and women without whom there would be no product, and therefore, no company, that is a sign there is something very wrong, very unethical, within the company. Sadly, the source of many problems in large corporations can be found at the top, and those problems always work their way down through the ranks." She risks a glance at Arthur, who is frowning. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she quickly looks away, at the clock. _Thank God._ "All right, I guess we're done. Have a good weekend."

Arthur walks past her on his way out of the room.

"Mr. Pendragon, do you have a moment?" The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. She's not really sure exactly what she's going to say, but she knows one thing: the add/drop deadline looms in the near future.

"Um, yes," he says, looking a bit puzzled.

She picks up her things. "Will you come with me to my office? I'd like a word," she says.

He nods and follows her out into the hallway and down the corridor to her office. She unlocks the door, opens it, and holds it open for him.

"After you," he prompts, holding his hand out.

"All right," she says, a little thrown by his manners. She sets her satchel on the desk and turns to look at him. "I'm not going to beat around the bush," she starts. "I think it might be a good idea for you to transfer out of my class."

"What?"

She looks down. "I'm sorry. But Dr. Emrys is a very good professor and his class is later in the day..."

"I know when it is. I have another class during that time," he interjects.

"You could drop it altogether," she suggests.

He blinks, clearly surprised. "Why are you so keen on getting rid of me?"

She sighs. "I... I don't know if I am comfortable having the son of Uther Pendragon in my Business _Ethics_ class," she answers, hoping to avoid a lengthy explanation.

"Still lost," he says, tilting his head at her.

"Actually, why are you even bothering to take this class since ethics are clearly something in which the Pendragon family has no interest?" she asks, trying a different route.

That throws him. He opens his mouth, then closes it, not sure what to say. He is struck by his complete lack of desire to defend Uther to his professor. "I am not my father," he finally says.

She sighs, nodding once. "I... I realize that. But your father put _my_ father out of a job, resulting in some very hard times for my family..."

"Ah, so _that's_ what that was about," he picks up where her voice trailed off. "It's a personal thing then."

She looks away, then back at him. "I'm sorry," she replies, not knowing what else to say.

"Look, I could tell right away you didn't like me. And that's all right. I've grown used to people disliking me without reason. It comes with the name." He lightly shrugs, then continues. "But I'm perfectly fine staying in your class. I can take whatever you throw at me. But if it's going to be an issue for _you_..."

She bristles at his implication. "No, I'll be fine," she hastily answers. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you. I'm not going to give you a free pass just because your name is Pendragon."

Now it is his turn to bristle. "I do not expect you to go easy on me," he tightly says. "In fact, I'm counting on you doing just the opposite," he adds, rising to the challenge.

"Very well," she says, tilting her head in a crooked sort of nod. "I will see you Thursday morning."

"I'll be there," he replies, then turns to leave. He pauses at the door, looking over his shoulder at her. "My father was against my going to grad school. He didn't think it was necessary. I'm here because I _want_ to be here." His voice is quiet and humble. He isn't looking for a pat on the back or any sort of praise. He is merely explaining himself.

Guinevere is surprised yet again. "Th-that's good," she stammers.

He turns to fully face her. "And for the record, when I got older and found out the board of directors voted themselves raises before closing the plants in Leeds and Derby, I was furious. I thought it was unconscionable." He looks down, then back up. "I'm sorry your father was one of the ones who was let go."

_Of course. He would have only been a child at the time. Like I was._ "Thank you," she softly says.

He exits, quietly closing the door behind him. Gwen slumps into her chair, resting her suddenly-throbbing head in her hands.

xXx

"Sounds like you're being unnecessarily hard on him," Elyan says a week later.

"He basically asked me to," Guinevere replies, clamping her phone between her head and shoulder to drain the noodles she was cooking. "He said something like he was counting on me to be tough on him."

"Well, don't treat him unfairly," her brother says.

"I would nev... okay, I'm trying not to," she admits. She pops the butter into the pot and stares at it, waiting for it to melt a bit. "I mean, what would you do? His dad is Uther Pendragon."

"Yeah, his _dad_. Not him."

"I know..." she sighs, grabbing the colander and dumping the macaroni into the pot over the mostly-melted butter. Then she grabs the milk and pours some in without measuring. "You were too little to remember the mess when Dad lost his job. It was awful."

"So you've told me," Elyan says. "But think of it this way: would you want to be judged based on things Mum did? Or Dad? Or me?"

Gwen snorts. "Definitely not you," she says with a smile, stirring the powdered cheese into the noodle mixture. "Honestly, though, I _know_ all this. I do. But I'm just having trouble keeping my heart out of my head."

"Gwen," he says, "you're teaching him Business _Ethics_. Isn't holding a grudge against one of your students for things his father did kind of... unethical?"

She scowls. "I knew I shouldn't have called you," she mutters. "You're right. I know you're right. I guess I just needed someone to tell me because I haven't been able to convince myself." She takes a bite of her macaroni and cheese from the mixing spoon. "Thanks," she says, her mouth half full.

"You're welcome. I'll let you eat your dinner," he replies. After a second, he adds, "What are you eating?"

_Shit._ "Macaroni and cheese," she quietly answers.

"Not from a box..."

"Maybe."

"Guinevere, really. Are you a professor or a student?" he asks. "I gave you my recipe..."

"Yes, and it's very good, but sometimes you just want the cheap rubbish in a cardboard box, all right?" she explains. "And yours is always better when _you_ make it."

"Yeah, tell that to Percival. I'm still trying to convince him to let me put it on the menu. He thinks it's too common." He snorts. "Posh twat."

"He's your best friend," she reminds him.

"Doesn't mean he's not a posh twat," Elyan retorts. "All right. I'll leave you to your gourmet dinner."

"Thank you," Gwen says. "Talk to you later."

"Yeah. Hey, Gwen?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not eating it directly out of the pot, are you?"

"Goodbye, Elyan," she says, laughing as she disconnects the call. She takes her fork and pot and heads to the living room to watch a little television before tackling the stack of papers staring at her. Arthur's is on the top.

xXx

A familiar voice reaches Guinevere's ears as she walks through the parking lot to the building the following Tuesday. Somewhat lost in thought, pondering the now-read and graded midterm papers (and the fact that Arthur's was stellar), the unmistakable voice of Arthur Pendragon cuts through the chatter and bustle.

"Hey, now, I'm sure he didn't mean it."

Gwen slows her steps as she sees him talking with two other students who appear to be at odds about something.

"Yeah, I was just going to class..." a younger man with dark hair says.

"And you smacked right into me!" a petite female student protests. "You should watch where you're going!"

"Look, I said I was sorry..."

"No, you said, 'Oh, my bad.' That's hardly a proper apology," she protests, stepping closer to the man.

Arthur turns towards her, looking her in the eyes. "What's your name?" he asks.

Guinevere doesn't realize she's stopped walking and is now blatantly eavesdropping.

"Elena," she answers.

"Elena, I'm Arthur. And you are...?" He looks at the young man.

"Mordred," the other man says.

"Elena, do you really think Mordred _intended_ to mow you down?" he asks. "I mean, what would he gain by knocking down a pretty young lady such as yourself?"

Elena frowns. "Maybe he was trying to steal my bag."

"I don't care about what's in your bag," Mordred huffs. "Okay, maybe I wasn't really looking where I was going..."

"Maybe?" Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows. He taps Mordred's mobile, clutched in the younger man's hand.

"All right, I was texting and totally not looking, all right?" Mordred admits. "Look... Elena... I'm very sorry I almost killed you."

She smiles despite herself, but quickly bites it back. "Well, you didn't almost _kill_ me..."

Arthur takes a step back as Elena and Mordred step closer to one another.

"Are you all right?" Mordred asks. He blinks at her as though he is finally _seeing _the pretty blonde.

"Yes, I think so. Maybe bruised my bum a little. And my pride a lot," she says. "Mostly my pride."

Arthur clears his throat. "I have a class. Can I trust you not to kill each other if I leave?" he asks.

"I think so," Elena answers. She peeks at Mordred, her expression quite different from when she first set eyes on him. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome," he says. He claps Mordred on the shoulder, says, "Invite me to the wedding," and jogs away, heading towards the classroom building.

Guinevere blinks and realizes she needs to hurry now, too. The last thing she sees is Mordred and Elena exchanging phone numbers while shyly smiling at each other.

xXx

Arthur began speaking up more in class after his meeting with Guinevere. It started slowly, as if he was as wary of her as she was of him. There were still arguments sometimes, still times when he challenged her, his experience in the business world sometimes showing her that what is ideal is not always possible.

"Of course unforeseen things can get in the way," Guinevere allowed. "Especially if you have to deal with another business that is, shall we say, less interested in doing things the fair and just way."

"Like Pendragon Industries," Arthur had added with a smirk and a short huff of a laugh.

"From your lips, not mine," she returned, her hands up in surrender, earning chuckles from the rest of the class.

Just when Gwen finally felt at ease having Arthur Pendragon in her class, just when she was able to separate the son from the father, it was time for finals.

She saved his exam for last, having a definite feeling she would have a difficult time moving on to the next exam after reading his.

She was right. His final was as exemplary as the rest of his work in her class.

However, she wasn't prepared for the personal note written on the last page.

_Dr. Thomas, you once asked me why I was bothering to take your class since ethics were clearly something in which the Pendragon family has no interest. I didn't answer you at the time because I couldn't. I was angry because I was not able to defend my father but I was also ashamed because I realized I did not wish to. This surprised me. As I said, I am not my father. I am not proud of the things he's done. He was dead against my going back to school, and is not supporting my decision in any way. If he knew I took a Business Ethics c__ourse__ he would likely have a heart attack. But because of your class, I have come to realize that I do not need to be my father. I do not need to continue running the business the way he has been. It will be my company one day, and it will be my responsibility to correct the mistakes he's made and turn Pendragon Industries into something of which I can be proud. Something for which I hope you will be proud of me._

Below this, he signed his name.

xXx

Three years later, the death of Uther Pendragon made international news. He died of a sudden heart attack while eating breakfast. Alone.

Guinevere Thomas learned of his death while eating her _own_ breakfast, the news on the television mainly for background noise while she ate and caught up on the games on her phone.

It is Arthur's voice that grabbed her attention. Arthur Pendragon, standing beside his half-sister, the unreasonably beautiful Morgana Pendragon. Morgana was clinging to the arm of a blonde woman who looked like she could – and would – kill everyone around her with a single glance.

Gwen stares at the screen, groping for the remote to turn the volume up.

"...Ask that you honor the family's privacy during this time as we mourn the passing of our father and see to his affairs. Thank you," he says. He steps away from the microphones and turns back towards the giant Pendragon mansion.

_He looked like he was holding up well. Actually, he looked rather... good? His eyes weren't red. He didn't seem sleep-deprived._ "Well, he admitted to not approving of most of his father's business tactics; maybe they didn't see eye to eye on personal matters as well," she muses aloud, looking down at her dog as though she could understand the words. She noticed Morgana was wearing sunglasses, though the day is overcast, but Arthur's eyes were definitely dry.

She watches the news so long that morning she is nearly late for her first class. But she has a lot of things to talk about with them now.

xXx

Arthur Pendragon proves to be a man of his word. Even though his word was scrawled on the back of a final exam and read only by a young college professor, he still kept it. Over the next six months, he implemented a series of sweeping changes to the way Pendragon Industries was run. It was as if he had a list of things he wanted to check off, and was meticulously seeing to each one. He improved working conditions. Benefits packages. Fired a _lot_ of problematic executives who insisted on clinging to the "old ways" of Uther's rule. He repaired broken relationships and broken equipment.

Guinevere watched all of this with great interest, and it was the primary topic of discussion in all her classes, but _especially_ Business Ethics.

Then, one Saturday just before Christmas break, there came a knock at her door while she was peering into her fridge, willing something to appear for her to eat for lunch.

Curious, she walks to the door, her little dog barking from behind the couch. She peers through the peephole and sees a delivery man standing there, so she opens the door.

"Hello?" she says.

"Guinevere Thomas?" the man says. He has a large vase of flowers covered in clear plastic gripped in one hand.

"Yes..."

"For you. Have a good day." He turns and strides back to his truck, leaving a very confused Gwen standing and staring.

She takes the vase inside, removes the protective cover, and pulls the card off of the plastic stick.

_Thank you and I'm sorry. -AP_

There is also a phone number that looks like it was very hastily written.

"Why are you sorry?" she mutters. _And why did you give me your number?_

Still, the flowers – a lovely arrangement that is vaguely Christmasy without being trite or cheesy – are lovely, and she puts them on the table, arranging a few of the flowers that got a little dislodged in transit.

She stares at the card, still puzzling over the number.

Guinevere picks up her phone, staring at it a moment, and almost dials his number. Instead, she decides to call her brother to tell him about the flowers, that he was right three and a half years ago, and how much she appreciated his wise advice. During the impromptu conversation, Guinevere recognizes she hasn't told her brother how much she respects him (at least, not in a long time) and attempts to do just that. _Why hadn't I noticed this before?_ Elyan was genuinely touched and pleased by his older sister's praise, uttering a quiet, "Thanks, Gwen. You're pretty brilliant, too."

By evening, Guinevere realizes she should at least thank Arthur for the flowers so he knows she received them. _I can't even begin __to __know what to say to him._ She feels awkward, but slowly dials the number, reasoning that it is a Saturday night during the holidays, so he's probably at some posh affair and won't answer his phone. _I'll just leave him a voicemail._

"Hello, this is Arthur," he answers rather quickly.

_I should have sent a text!_ "Arthur? Um, hello. This is Guinevere Thomas calling," she says.

"Dr. Thomas, how nice to hear from you," he replies, his voice warming.

She can hear the smile in his voice. _He probably thought I was someone calling about business._ "I received the flowers you sent. Thank you very much; they are lovely." _And a bit unnecessary._

"You're very welcome."

"You didn't need to— I mean, it was rather unexpected," she says, correcting herself halfway through. _Of course he knows he didn't need to send me flowers._

"I know. I simply wished to let you know that I appreciate everything I learned in your class, and have actually been using it," Arthur explains.

Guinevere finds herself chuckling and relaxing. He is very easy to talk to, she realizes. "Oh, you 'actually' have, hmm?" she asks.

"I know; who would have thought it? It's not like Business Ethics was a _practical_ class like... Trigonometry or Basket Weaving," he replies.

"You did not take Basket Weaving. We don't even offer that," she returns. "And besides, being able to weave a basket could be a very practical skill, come to think of it..."

Now it is his turn to laugh. She doesn't think she's heard him truly laugh before, and it's... _a really nice sound._ "Maybe when I go for my doctorate," he says.

"Oh yes, the basis for every good doctoral degree," she responds. There is a moment of quiet, then she forges ahead. "Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you apologize on your card?"

"Oh, um..." he pauses a moment. "I guess I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable at first. I'm sorry for arguing with you. But mostly, I'm sorry my father... well, I'm sorry for everything my father did. Especially closing the plant at which your father worked."

"Oh. Thank you, but... you already apologized for that. Did you forget?" she asks, touched by his words.

"Of course not. I wish I could do more. I would find a job with us for your father now, but I presume he is retired," he says.

"He passed away ten years ago," she quietly informs.

"Oh... I am sorry."

"I am sorry about your father, too."

"It's really all right," he replies. "Morgana – my sister – took it pretty hard, but she's doing a lot better now."

"That's good," Guinevere says. "I saw you on the news. I've actually been following the story with great interest. We talk about it a lot in my classes."

"I thought you might be," Arthur replies. "That's... that's part of why I'm trying my hardest to fix things at the company. The main part being it's just the right thing to do, of course."

"Of course." She pauses a moment, an idea coming to her. "Would you... um... I mean, if you have time, I know you're very busy, but would you be willing to come speak to my Ethics class some time?"

"I would be honored," he immediately answers. "I will have to get back to you about that though..."

"It wouldn't be until after the holidays, obviously," she quickly says. "As I said, I know you're very busy."

"It's a simple matter of checking my calendar," he breezily says. "I'll talk to my assistant tomorrow and get back to you with some options."

"Thank you. And thank you again for the flowers," she replies. "Um, I hope you have a pleasant holiday."

"Thank you, Dr. Thomas. Happy Christmas to you, too."

"Guinevere," she says. "Or Gwen."

"Guinevere," he repeats. "Good night, Guinevere."

"Good night, Arthur."

xXx

Arthur, of course, had her class eating out of the palm of his hand. Word had gotten out that Arthur Pendragon was coming to talk to Gwen's class, so there were a few extras – including the entirety of Dr. Emrys' Business Ethics class – in the room that day.

"Thank you, Arthur. That was wonderful," Guinevere tells him as the students file out of the crowded room. Merlin hangs around a moment to say hello, but scurries away to teach another class, leaving them alone. She smiles, pleased she learned a few things from his presentation as well. Like how Arthur refused to take an upper-management job straight out of college, even though his father had offered one. And how he did not give himself a raise when he took over the company, saying he did not need one.

"You're quite welcome. It was... fun," Arthur replies.

"Would it be too much to ask if you can make this a regular thing? Like once a semester. I mean, as long as you are available," she asks, hoping she isn't overstepping.

"Well, now, that kind of commitment comes with a price," he says, the corner of his mouth turning upwards as he looks down at her.

"Oh. Um. Oh dear, I hadn't thought—"

"Dinner. I'm talking about going to dinner with me," he explains, chuckling.

She looks up at him, thrown off-balance once again by this strange, fascinating man. His blue eyes gaze down at her, twinkling with humor and warmth. "Tonight?" she squeaks, her voice failing her.

"I was thinking this weekend, but if you're that eager..." he smiles, half shrugging.

"Oh... yes, this weekend is fine. Saturday?" she asks. Her heart is thumping and she's pretty sure her cheeks are a bit pinker than normal.

"Saturday it is. I'll pick you up at seven," he says.

"Okay," she replies.

He glances at his watch. "I need to go." Still, he pauses. His eyes flit to the door for just a moment, then he lifts his hand to brush a light caress over her cheek with his thumb. "Saturday," he repeats, gives her a nod, and then exits the room, leaving her stunned.

She lifts her hand to her flaming cheek, suddenly allowing herself to ponder an entirely new set of possibilities she had heretofore not considered.

_It's only dinner,_ she tells herself.

She was wrong.


	17. One Lands on the Other

**A/N: Rewrite of the opening of 2x13 to mirror Gwen tackling Arthur in 2x02.**

"Gwen?!" Arthur yells across the courtyard. _What the hell is she doing? She shouldn't be out here!_ "GUINEVERE!" He takes off at a run, desperate to get to her before the dragon does.

He reaches her just as the dragon swoops low. Without thinking, Arthur throws himself at Guinevere, tackling her to the ground beside the well, covering her body with his own.

"Oof!" she huffs. Somehow he managed to get his hand around the back of her head to prevent it from smacking into the cobbles, but he is very heavy in his armor and her hip is smarting where she landed.

"Sorry," he exhales, his eyes quickly searching her face. "Why on earth are you out here?" he grits out, anger and concern warring.

"We needed clean water..." she weakly answers. "There are too many casualties, and..."

He lifts up a bit, still keeping her pinned. "Guinevere, you can't just—"

"Look out!" she exclaims, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down over her once more.

He covers her again as the dragon makes another pass, the hot wind from his massive, leathery wings blowing his hair. "That was close... I think," he says, lifting his face just enough to see her. His nose is nearly touching hers. "Are... are you all right?" he asks, his voice becoming low and breathy.

_Am I what?_ All thought seems to have fled Guinevere's brain as she stares into the worried blue depths of his eyes. She manages a slight nod before his lips are on hers. Her eyes close as they simultaneously surrender to their mutual desire, the danger of their situation momentarily forgotten as they steal a moment for themselves sprawled on the cobbles of the courtyard, obscured by the well.

"Arthur!" Sir Leon's voice, searching for his prince.

Arthur slowly lifts his head, reluctant to leave her lips but, as always, fully cognizant of his responsibilities. He gives her a small smile, rubs the tip of his nose against hers in a brief caress, and eases himself up and off of her. "Here, Leon!" he calls, holding both hands down to help Guinevere to her feet. He looks up and sees the dragon is nowhere in sight. "Come on," he says, holding out his hand.

She retrieves the bucket she was filling, takes his hand, and they quickly and carefully make their way back indoors.

Alive to fight another day.


	18. Accidentally Saw You Naked

_Oh dear. Oh no._

_ Not again._

_ He's going to start thinking I'm doing this on purpose._

"Guinevere?" Arthur's voice calls to her through the doors to his chambers. "Guinevere, are you still out there?"

She is still out there, leaning against the closed doors, her face burning.

This is the second time she's encountered Arthur, her love, her _king_, stark naked in his quarters.

The first time, she was trying to save his life, unbeknownst to him. They had never spoken of it, and Guinevere had tried valiantly _not_ to look at… those parts of him that she had never seen before.

This time was equally innocent and still involved his bath.

However.

This time she found herself rooted in place, unable to move, _staring_. This time Arthur didn't react as quickly, giving her a full three seconds to appraise him before her head cleared enough to realize she should turn around. Before he unfroze and realized he could simply drop back into the tub.

She had knocked. She _had._ Hearing nothing, arms full of bed linens, she breezed inside, intending to change the sheets on the king's bed.

A great splash stopped her in her tracks as Arthur suddenly stood up in his bath, dripping water everywhere, his hair plastered to his head.

He had been under the water when she knocked.

Guinevere, frozen in place, eyes wide, watched the water droplets as they formed and fell from the ends of his hair and fingertips. She watched how it ran over his well-muscled form, highlighting each line and contour, from the broad curves of his shoulders, to the attractive symmetry of his chest and stomach, down to the... _oh, my_. She watched as he reached up to swipe the wetness from his eyes.

It probably took him all of a second to open his eyes, but it seemed an eternity to the stunned handmaiden.

This time there was no startled cry of "Guinevere!" No reaching for the nearest item to use as a cover. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The small action snapped Guinevere out of her shocked paralysis. She turned around, muttered an apology, and fled the room, sheets still clutched in her arms, held to her chest like a shield.

She didn't notice the sounds of Arthur scrambling from his tub and clumsily reaching for a towel. She didn't notice he was similarly shocked into inaction. She didn't notice he was staring back at her, just as dumbfounded.

When the doors open, she jumps.

"Guinevere, please come back in."

She peeks, and sees he is wearing trousers, a towel draped over his bare shoulders.

"I..."

"It's all right," he encourages, stepping to the side to allow her to enter.

"I'm sorry. I... I knocked, but... you must have been under the water, and... oh dear..." she stammers, unable to look at him.

"It was an honest misunderstanding," he says. He truly does not seem troubled by what just transpired.

Something occurs to Guinevere. "Where is Merlin? Doesn't he normally attend your bath?"

"Gaius needed him. Said it was an emergency," Arthur answers with a light shrug. "I assured him I could find a way to rinse my own hair and reach my own towel."

"Oh," she replies. She still feels horribly embarrassed, but his casual demeanor is helping her feel better.

"If it happens again, I'll have him send a replacement," he says. "Just in case you decide to stop in," he adds with a tiny smile.

"I was intending to change your bed linens," she explains, indicating the bundle in her arms.

"That's Merlin's job."

"I help out where I can," she says.

Arthur nods, a curious expression on his face as he thinks about sleeping in linens that his Guinevere had lovingly set in place for him. _Would prefer to sleep in bed linens _with_ her. Soon._

"I should go," she says, stepping towards the door.

"Wait," he says, touching her arm.

"Yes?"

He presses his lips together, wanting to ask her if she liked what she saw. Wanting to know if she will think about him later, lying in bed.

Instead, he leans over and kisses her.

She smiles up at him. "You need to dry your hair some more or you'll catch a chill," she softly says, looking up at his still rather wet hair.

"I will," he answers. "Feel better?"

She nods. "Mostly. Thank you." He releases her and she heads to the door.

He looks at her, a mischievous expression on his face. "Seems a bit unfair though... you've seen me twice now, and I've nev—"

"Arthur!" she exclaims, giggling despite herself. She knows he is teasing to try and set her at ease.

He walks up to her and gives her one more kiss. "I would never ask such a thing," he reassures her.

"I know," she responds. "Now go on," she urges. "The last thing this kingdom needs is a bedridden king."

"What about you?" he asks.

"The last thing I need is for you to fall ill," she answers, her voice taking on a softer edge.

"Might not be so bad if I have the right nurse," he says, fondly looking at her.

"Um…" she hesitates a moment, looking down at the bundle in her arms, "I will ask Merlin to see to your sheets when he can."

"Oh," he chuckles. "I had completely forgotten about them."

She gives him one last smile, then ducks from the room.

Arthur stares at the door for a moment, thinking about his Guinevere and how wonderful, sweet, and wise she is. He squares his shoulders and walks over to the nightstand beside his bed. He opens a drawer and withdraws a velvet bag, rubbing the soft material in his fingers. He ponders the contents, one small item, procured from the vaults in secret several months ago. It was his mother's. He rubs the velvet with his thumb once more, opens the bag, and deposits the item onto his palm.

As he stares at the ring, he makes his decision.


	19. Lying to Hospital Staff

"I told him a motorbike was a stupid idea," Morgana growls, pressing the gas pedal harder as she speeds to the hospital. "I _told_ him you wouldn't like it... I _told _him he was going to get his stupid arse killed..." she glances at Guinevere in the passenger seat and immediately apologized. "Sorry, Gwen."

"Red light! _Red light!_" Guinevere yells.

Morgana stomps on the brakes, screeching to a stop. A car crosses in front of them, but then they sit, alone at a red light, at 1:33 a.m. "Sod it all," Morgana mutters, and hits the gas again, going through the red light.

Gwen, normally a pillar of good behavior, says a silent word of thanks for her much more... adventurous friend.

Merlin called Gwen at 1:08. Gwen woke Morgana at 1:13. Both women were out the door by 1:20, in pajama bottoms (cats for Morgana, penguins for Gwen), t-shirts, and hoodies. Gwen's shoes don't match. Morgana isn't wearing knickers.

Neither of them care. Arthur is in the Accident and Emergency department at Camelot Hospital after an accident on his very new motorbike.

Morgana carelessly parks her car, and Guinevere is out before the engine is turned off, running towards the doors and the waiting Merlin. Morgana easily catches up on her longer legs, and they nearly tackle Merlin.

"Whoa!" he says

"Where is he?"

"Is he okay?"

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Is Uther here?"

"How bad is he?"

Merlin holds up his hands. "He was pretty banged up, but I haven't heard anything since he was brought in."

"Why aren't you back with him?" Morgana asks, following him inside.

"Couldn't. Uther has a Thing," Merlin answers, making a face with the word "Thing."

"What 'Thing'?" Guinevere asks.

"Only family can be near his golden child should he ever need hospitalization. I guess it's for security or whatever, but it also means I'm stuck out here like I'm nobody," he answers.

"Shit," Gwen mutters, uncharacteristically cursing.

"Is Uther here?" Morgana asks, narrowing her eyes.

"No," Merlin snorts. "He won't come until it's a 'suitable hour'," he adds, doing his best impression of Arthur and Morgana's father.

"Come on," Morgana says, taking her roommate's hand.

"But..."

"Just let me do the talking. Sorry I can't get you in, Merlin, but I will get Gwen in," Morgana presses. "I'll text you everything."

"Great," Merlin sighs. He goes and sits, muttering something about "Best friend for 20 years, practically a brother, and Uther still can't see me as a real person..."

"Yes, well, _we_ love you," Morgana adds, throwing him a kiss.

"Yeah, yeah... go on..." he says, half smiling.

Guinevere has no idea how Morgana is going to get her back to see Arthur, but she's seen her successfully do some pretty amazing (and often wild) things, so she keeps her mouth closed as she has been bidden.

"Who're you here to see?" the security guard asks.

"Arthur Pendragon," Morgana says.

The guard types in Arthur's name. Clearly he is either unaware of the status of the Pendragon name or doesn't care. "It says 'Family only'. You family?"

"Yes."

The guard looks at the two of them, at tall Morgana with her porcelain skin and green eyes, then at short Guinevere with her barely-contained curls and tawny complexion. "_Both_ of you?" he asks, but it doesn't sound much like a question.

Morgana sighs. "I'm his sister and she's his wife. That good enough for you?" she asks, giving him a very haughty, withering look.

"Um, yeah, all right," he mutters, cowed. He reaches for two plastic badges for them.

_Wife?_ Gwen clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palms to keep her composure. Yes, she loves Arthur. They've been together for nearly a year now, despite Uther's initial protestations, and she has hopes that one day... but this? She's not sure about this. She gives Morgana a slightly panicked look while the guard is occupied. Morgana's returning look very clearly says _Do you want to see Arthur or not?_

"All right," the guard says, passing them the badges. "I'll show you back. He's in a private section."

"Of course," Morgana replies, as though it should be obvious.

They follow him back, through the main area, and down another corridor to a door. He knocks twice.

Gwen worries at her lower lip, her heart pounding for several reasons now. If she was thinking more clearly, she might be angry with Morgana for piling on the additional concern of pretending to be Arthur's wife. But all she can think of is Arthur's well-being. She has no idea what the extent of his injuries is. All she heard was Merlin's voice saying, "Arthur's in the A&amp;E," and the rest was a blur.

The door opens to reveal a nurse. "Mr. Pendragon's family," the guard says.

The nurse raises an eyebrow then shrugs, deciding that since the guard allowed them in, who was she to further question. She steps aside and allows the two younger women inside.

Guinevere releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding when she sees Arthur awake and sitting up. "Arthur," she breathes, rushing to his side. His right arm is immobilized and bandaged from shoulder to fingertips, and he has a bruised face. She can't tell if he has any other injuries, because he is covered from the waist down.

"Guinevere!" he softly exclaims, a glare from his sister causing him to dial back his surprise at seeing his girlfriend. He tilts his face up to receive her kiss, then whispers in her ear, "How did you get in?"

"Morgana told the guard I was your wife," she answers.

He keeps his features carefully blank, but the monitors show his heart rate increasing a bit. "Merlin called you," he says, looking from Guinevere to Morgana.

"You are an idiot," Morgana replies, but there is no fire in her words. She also comes over and kisses his forehead. "You're a _live_ idiot, but still an idiot," she mutters, poking a bruise beside the spot she has just kissed.

"Ow!" he whines. The nurse scowls and tuts at Morgana, but she clearly knows who the Pendragons are, so she holds her tongue.

"You're lucky I'm not breaking your other arm," she says.

"Morgana..." Gwen softly implores.

"Well aren't you angry with him for being stupid?" Morgana demands.

"Yes, but... now is not the time," Guinevere answers. "He'll hear my opinion on the matter when he's out of the hospital."

Arthur sighs. "You'll both be happy to hear the bike is totaled."

"Good," they answer in unison.

"You don't want to leave Gwen a young widow, do you?" Morgana asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Arthur squeezes Guinevere's hand. "Definitely not," he smoothly answers.

Guinevere faintly blushes, then asks, "What happened, Arthur?"

"There was an oil slick on the road," he answers. "I _wasn't_ driving dangerously," he adds, looking at Morgana. "I came around a corner, and... started sliding all over... lost control... boom. Luckily, Merlin was following me." He looks at Guinevere now. "I was wearing a helmet. It didn't have a face shield or anything, but it probably kept my head in one piece."

Gwen blinks away threatening tears, and Arthur gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. He really wants to take her in his arms, hold her, tell her everything is all right... and give her the ring that is in the inside pocket of his leather jacket (and thankfully intact). Turn the lie that Morgana told into a truth. He stares into the middle distance for a moment, then speaks.

"Alice," Arthur calls to the nurse, who has been hovering like she is being paid for each minute she remains in the room.

"What can I do for you, Arthur?" she asks. "Dr. Gaius is on his way, but I can give you some more..."

"Would you mind stepping outside for a few minutes?" he asks.

"Oh. Um, yes. You seem to be doing well, so I suppose I could leave you on your own for a little while," she answers. She checks his IV, tucks the blanket around his feet, then exits.

"Morgana, my leather jacket is hanging in that wardrobe," Arthur says. "There's something I need from the inside pocket."

"Something you need, _now_?" she replies, but goes to the wardrobe anyway. "Ugh, this is shredded," she comments. "Did they cut it off of you?"

"A bit. Just the sleeve. You can buy me a new one for my birthday," he answers.

Morgana digs into the coat and her hand closes around a square box that fits into her palm. Her eyes widen and she's glad she's facing away from Gwen. She carefully arranges her face and holds the box in both hands to shield it from view. She gives Arthur a look that says, "You really want to do this now? With me right here?" He nods.

"Guinevere," he says, giving her hand another gentle squeeze because it's all he can do with one arm completely incapacitated and the other hooked up to an IV, "I had meant to do this at a more opportune time, in a much less... sterile setting," he pauses, smiling a bit at her adorable wide-eyed expression, "but the events of this evening – well, morning, I guess – have given me a slightly different perspective on things."

"Arthur, what are you...?" Guinevere's question dies on her lips when Morgana, prompted by a nod from her brother, sets the box on his lap.

He releases her hand only to pick up the box. "I've been holding onto this for too long," he softly says, not noticing Morgana slipping from the room. "I bought it a month after you finally agreed to go out with me," he admits, turning the small black cube over with his fingers, deftly manipulating the item with just one hand, almost fidgeting with it. "I could have lost it tonight. I could have lost _you_ tonight."

"_I _could have lost _you,_ you mean," Guinevere corrects, huffing a small, watery laugh.

"I'm a mess," he says. "My shoulder was dislocated, and my arm is probably broken in at least three places. I've got a bruise on my forehead and road rash on my chin, but if you'll have the wreck that I am as your husband, I promise I will love you as long as I live."

She leans down and carefully hugs him, mindful of his numerous injuries and the tubes and wires attached to him.

"Is that a yes?" he asks.

She loosens her hold on his neck. "Oh! I'm sorry, yes!" she answers, kissing him. "Yes, of course, yes," she whispers, then kisses him again, her hands tenderly holding his face.

He offers her the box, unable to open it with his one hand. "Open it," he says.

She takes and opens it to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. The stone is large, but not ostentatious, and the setting is exactly her taste. "Oh, Arthur," she whispers, "it's beautiful. I love it and I love you." She leans down and kisses him again.

"I love you so much," he replies. Then he looks down at the ring. "I don't know if I got the size right."

"It doesn't matter right now," she replies, taking the ring out.

"May I?" Arthur asks, opening his left hand. Guinevere smiles, gives him the ring, and holds her hand out for him.

As he slides the (slightly too big) ring onto her finger, she notices his hand trembling a little. Once the ring is in place, she takes his hand between both of hers and softly kisses it.

"You're trembling," she says, tenderly smiling at him.

"It's not from the accident," he replies, returning her smile. "And you are, too."

"I know."


	20. Fake Couple

Guinevere gently sets the child on her bed and quickly tucks him in, snugging the blankets around his skinny, shivering body.

She had found the boy at the edge of the lower town, on her way back from gathering late fall herbs in the forest. She called out, searched the area, and even asked around, but found no sign of any parents or family of any kind.

Gelda Seward was the only person to show any sign of recognition at all, saying she thought his parents died of illness that summer. "I cannot say for certain, but it looks like him," the old woman had said, peering at the boy's gaunt, pale face.

"Do you know his name?" Guinevere asked.

Mrs. Seward thought for a moment, furrowing her brows. "Something with an 'S'. Stewart? No. Sawyer. Yes, I believe it's Sawyer."

"Sawyer?" Guinevere quietly calls, smoothing his lank brown hair away from his face. He stirs a little, a small whimper escaping his lips. She tucks him in tighter and wrings her hands, looking towards the door. _Arthur won't mind if I stay here, but I need to let him know._

She quickly walks to the door, opening it and peeking out, trying to keep the cold air from coming in. She scans the faces of the people passing, looking for someone on their way to the castle. "Ella," she calls to a young woman, a castle maid.

"Gwen!" Ella exclaims, surprised to see her still at home. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but I need your help, if you please," she answers, gesturing for the other maid to come inside. "Would you give a message to Merlin for me, please?"

"Of course," Ella answers. "What's wrong?"

Guinevere nods towards her bed. "I found him near the forest. He's nearly frozen." She finds a piece of parchment and a quill, and quickly writes a note for Merlin.

_Merlin,_

_ Please tell Arthur I will be staying home for a few days to nurse an orphan back to health. I found him near the forest this morning._

_ Thank you, Gwen._

She rolls it up, ties a ribbon around it, and hands it to Ella.

"I'll give it to him right away," Ella says.

"Thank you, Ella," Guinevere replies.

xXx

Shortly after noon, Merlin comes knocking with medicine from Gaius. "He says you can bring him to the castle if you need his assistance," Merlin says, setting the bottle on her table. "He _also_ says you probably don't need his assistance, as you probably know about as much as he does."

Guinevere chuckles, shaking her head. "I highly doubt that, but you can thank him for his high praise."

Merlin walks over to the bed and looks down at the boy. "Sawyer," he says.

"You know him?" she asks.

"Yes. His parents died a few months ago. I thought he had died as well..." He bends down and checks the boy over, careful not to wake him. A minute later, he stands. "I don't see signs of anything life-threatening or contagious. I think he'll be fine, with some time and careful nursing." He places his hand on her shoulder and adds, "Arthur says he misses you, but that you should take as long as you need."

Guinevere smiles and looks down for a moment. "Thank him for me," she quietly replies.

"I will. I have to get back," Merlin says. "I'll stop by later."

"Thank you, Merlin. And please tell Gaius 'Thank you' for the draught."

xXx

Sawyer stirs a short time later, a soft, plaintive moan catching Guinevere's attention as she putters on the other side of her small home. "Mama..."

Guinevere freezes, not sure what to do. She turns around, picks up the bottle from Gaius and walks over. "You're awake," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. She puts her hand on his forehead. "Still burning up though." _Perhaps he was mumbling in his sleep._

"Mama," he repeats, weakly reaching out for her, his small fingers grasping her skirt.

_Perhaps not._ She quietly clears her throat. "Here, drink this. It will help you feel better," she says, choosing to bypass his confusion about her identity.

She helps him sit up and drink. He coughs, then collapses back on the bed. She crosses to the fire, where she has some broth heating for him, and ladles some into a bowl.

When she returns to the bed, he's fallen asleep again. She sighs and tucks the blankets around him again, then smoothes the sweaty hair from his forehead.

Just when she places a fresh cool compress on Sawyer's forehead, she hears a soft knock at the door. Assuming it to be Merlin, she simply crosses to the door and opens it.

"Arthur," she says, quickly ushering him inside. He's shrouded in his blue cloak, but she knows it's him.

Arthur flips the hood back and removes the garment. "I know you were expecting Merlin, but I wanted to check on you myself," he explains, setting a wrapped bundle on the table.

"I'm happy to see you," Guinevere replies, smiling at him. She glances at the parcel.

"Another draught from Gaius and some food for both of you. If he can eat," he explains.

"Thank you."

"How is the boy?" he asks, looking over at the bed.

"Feverish. Possibly a little delirious," she answers, remembering how he referred to her as his mother.

Just then, he stirs again. He mumbles a little bit, then blinks his eyes open. "Father," he breathes, his eyes bleary. He weakly smiles. "You're home."

"I see what you mean about being delirious," Arthur quietly tells Guinevere, then moves closer to the boy. "Yes, I'm home," he answers, playing along.

Guinevere chews her lower lip, unsure if humoring the boy is a good idea. But then she sees how happy seeing his "father" makes Sawyer, and thinks perhaps a little happiness might help him recover.

"Yes, I worked very hard today," she hears Arthur telling him. "But you have to get better so you can eat the food I brought home to you and Mother." He looks back at Guinevere, and she steps over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He drank his medicine earlier," she says. "I was glad to see you awake, Sawyer." She gives him an indulgent smile and reaches forward to brush his hair from his forehead again. "When am I supposed to give him the second draught?" she asks Arthur.

"Tomorrow morning," he answers. "Do you think you could eat something?" he asks the child.

They can see his stomach lurch at the thought of food, but he nods.

"I have some broth prepared for him," Guinevere says. "Can you help him sit up?"

Arthur obliges, getting the boy settled while she brings the food. She can hear him softly murmuring to the boy, and her heart seizes a little, thinking of him as a father. A father to _their_ children one day. She brings the bowl over and feeds Sawyer small, slow spoonfuls of broth with Arthur at her side.

Just like a family.

xXx

The next day, Arthur makes sure to return to Guinevere's home early to keep up the illusion. Sawyer is happy to wake up with his "father" there, and she sees the smile that crosses the child's face when Arthur hugs and kisses her goodbye, but his health regresses a short time later, falling back into a feverish stupor for much of the afternoon. When Arthur returns that evening, the child brightens a bit, bolstered by what he thinks is the presence of both of his loving parents.

After Sawyer slowly eats a small amount of solid food with his broth, they tell him stories, mostly about Arthur's quests, until he falls asleep. Guinevere feels a little heartsick at how the poor, fevered boy gazes at them with his red, shiny eyes as though she and Arthur are dear to him. _How long can this last?_

She talks with Arthur about her concerns just before he leaves for the night. A small part of her enjoys pretending to be married to him, but she is still anxious about the ruse. "What are we going to do when he realizes we aren't his parents?" she asks, looking over at the boy in her bed. He has a dusky complexion, so it is possible his mother may resemble Guinevere, but she knows he will eventually recover and see that she is not who he thinks she is.

"I don't know," Arthur answers with a sigh. "All I know is it's helping him to think we are." He gently takes her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the backs. "I do like hearing a child call you 'Mother', I must admit," he adds.

"Perhaps one day," she quietly replies, looking at their joined hands.

"I made you a promise," he said, leaned down to kiss her, then disappeared into the night.

xXx

Sawyer's fever broke that night. When Arthur arrives the next morning, he is still sleeping, but Guinevere is nervous about the day ahead.

To distract herself, she asks how Uther is faring in her absence, not because she truly cares for the addled king, but because she feels bad for shirking her duties in the castle. Arthur assures her he is being cared for, and even seemed to notice someone different was tending him, which he took to be a good sign.

"F-father?" Sawyer's small voice nearly makes them jump.

Arthur turns. "Here, my boy," he says, walking over to him and ruffling his hair. "Are you feeling better?"

The boy looks up at him, suddenly seeming a bit hesitant. Guinevere notices his eyes aren't as bleary and sunken as they were. "A little," he answers, looking between Arthur and Guinevere.

"Are... are you hungry?" she asks.

Sawyer nods and closes his eyes.

"Well, I had best be off," Arthur announces. He rubs the boy's head again, gentler this time, then kisses Guinevere. "We'll sort this out, I promise," he whispers.

She can only nod. Then she sets about getting breakfast for her patient.

Sawyer eats fairly well; certainly better than he had been. He is quiet, which isn't unusual, but seems more withdrawn, adding fuel to Guinevere's anxiety.

Just as she finishes cleaning the breakfast dishes, a knock sounds at her door. Guinevere opens it to find Gelda Seward and another, younger woman standing outside. "Oh, hello," she greets, mildly surprised. "Please, come in."

"Forgive the intrusion, Gwen, but I wished to check on your poor little foundling," Gelda says. "And I met up with Hollis in the marketplace, so I asked her to come along. You know Hollis, yes?"

"Yes, the butcher's wife," Guinevere answers. "I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you right away." The young woman has a scarf over her hair and looks markedly thinner than the last time Guinevere saw her.

Hollis nods, a sad smile on her face. "I've... lost a bit of weight since..." She pauses, wringing her hands.

"Since Morgana's attempt to usurp the throne," Gelda supplies, reassuringly patting the younger woman's clasped hands. "How is the boy?"

Guinevere blinks, remembering. _The butcher and his wife lost their child when Morgana had her men shoot those arrows into the crowd._ "Um, he's doing better. His fever broke last night and his eyes and lungs are both clearer." She reaches down and places a gentle hand on his forehead. "Much cooler today."

"Good, good," Gelda says. "I know he is in very capable hands. Gaius has taught you very well," she adds with a smile.

"Thank you," Guinevere answers, noting how Hollis' eyes are glued to the face of the sleeping boy. He squirms and scrunches down into the covers, and the poor woman presses her lips together and looks away. _I don't understand why Gelda would bring her here to see this boy? It is clearly painful for her._

"Well, we'll be off now," Gelda presses on. "If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know."

"I will. Thank you again," Guinevere answers.

Hollis turns towards the door. Gelda gives Guinevere a very meaningful look, then glances back at the other young woman.

_Oh._ Guinevere nods, understanding, then smiles.

xXx

Guinevere is just preparing a light lunch for Sawyer when she hears his voice behind her.

"You're not my mother," he says. It's not accusatory or angry. It's a realization.

She turns around and brings him his plate. "No. I'm not," she answers, sitting. _No point in lying anymore._

"My mother was taller," he continues. He studies her a moment. "And her skin was a little darker than yours." He reaches up with his hand as if to touch her, hesitates, then drops it again.

"I'm sure she was beautiful," Guinevere replies. "Do you need my help, or would you like to try feeding yourself?" she asks, choosing to stay on task to keep her suddenly churning emotions in check.

"I want to try," he says, slowly sitting up, without any help. "What's your name?"

"Gwen," she answers, setting the plate on his lap. "I found you near the forest two days ago."

"Oh," he replies, lifting his fork to his lips. His hand is a bit shaky, but he gets the food there. "Is the man your husband?"

_Oh, dear._ "Um, no. He's... a friend. He's been coming over to help."

"Oh. He's nice."

"Yes, he is," she answers.

Sawyer frowns. "He looks a lot like my father... did..."

Guinevere sighs. "I... we didn't like deceiving you. It's just that..."

He nods, and she's not sure if he understands what she means. "I was too sick to know anything," he says.

"It seemed to help you get better... to think we were your parents," she says.

He nods again. "My name is Sawyer," he offers. "My parents got really sick and died."

"I know," Guinevere quietly says, dabbing his chin with a napkin.

"I wanted to die. I think."

"I understand," she answers. "I felt like that when my father died." Now that Sawyer is awake and aware, she finds the boy to be interesting, intelligent, and likely a bit older than she had originally surmised. His small size indicated him to be around seven, possibly eight. Now she would estimate him to be closer to nine years of age. She thinks about asking him, but guesses he probably doesn't exactly know. She only has an estimation of her own age and an approximation of when her birthday is, as commoners generally do not mark such occasions.

He looks up. "Is your mother alive?"

She shakes her head. "I barely remember her."

He stares at her a moment, then hands her the empty bowl. "Thank you," he says.

She's not sure exactly why she is being thanked, but answers, "You're very welcome."

xXx

Merlin stops in a short time later with another draught. "Oh! He's up," he says. "Hello. I'm Merlin," he introduces himself to Sawyer, who is sitting up and looking at a few interesting rocks Guinevere had collected over the years.

"I'm Sawyer," the boy answers. "I know you. You're the physician's helper. I've seen you in the forest collecting herbs."

"I am," Merlin replies. "And the physician sent over another bottle of medicine for you, but it doesn't look like you need it." He smiles at Gwen, who looks pleased but still worried.

Sawyer looks at Guinevere. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asks.

It's the question she has been dreading. "We'll find a home for you, don't worry," she answers, smiling in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.

Merlin nods his agreement. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but I need to get back," he says.

Guinevere walks with him to the door. "Do you have a few minutes to spare?" she asks.

"Well, Arthur needs—" he starts, then stops. "I'll just tell him I was running an errand for you if he starts yelling. What do you need?"

"Would you stop in at the butcher's and ask if he and his wife can come see me at their earliest convenience?" Guinevere asks. She glances back at Sawyer, who is running his fingers along a pattern in one of the rocks.

"Of course," Merlin answers. "They just lost a chi— oh, I see." He smiles. "I think they would be overjoyed."

"She was here yesterday with Mrs. Seward, who I think was planting that seed," she explains.

xXx

Arthur arrives a little earlier than the day before, and Guinevere can't help but wonder if he's grown overly fond of Sawyer.

"Sawyer, my boy, I see you're feeling bet..." Arthur's words die when he sees the child looking at him with a face full of wonder.

"You're the prince," Sawyer whispers. He looks at Guinevere, confused.

"I wasn't sure if you would recognize him," she says. "And he _is_ my friend."

"The prince is your friend?" Sawyer asks. "Are you a noble?"

"I'm a handmaiden," she explains. She sighs. "It's a little complicated."

Arthur kneels down beside the bed. "Guinevere is one of my dearest friends, Sawyer. I may be the prince, but I am just a person, same as you, same as anyone else. We all need friends."

"Can I be your friend?"

"Of course. And if one day, when you are older, you want to train to be a knight, come and see me," Arthur says.

"I could be a knight?" His eyes widen.

"I have four knights who were born commoners, and they are four of the finest men I have. One of them is Guinevere's brother. If you want to be a knight, you can be a knight," the prince explains.

"What if I don't want to be one?" Sawyer asks, suddenly uncertain.

"That's fine also," Arthur smiles. "You can—"

A timid knock at the door interrupts him.

"Excuse me," Guinevere says and goes to the door. "Hello, thank you for coming. Please." She steps aside and gestures for them to enter.

"My lord!" the butcher, a burly man with a kind face, bows as Arthur stands. Hollis curtseys beside him, eyes downcast.

"Ah, you are Byram, the butcher, yes?" Arthur asks.

"Yes, Sire," Byram answers, looking a bit puzzled. He's not certain why Guinevere asked them to call on her, and he certainly wasn't expecting to see the Prince Regent in her small home.

"Guinevere?" Arthur defers to her, stepping aside.

"Byram, Hollis, um, forgive my boldness, but... well, I seem to have acquired a child in need of a good, loving home, and since you seem to have a good, loving home..."

Hollis' face lights up and tears begin to flow down her cheeks. "Oh, Gwen, I was hoping... at first I was angry with Gelda for bringing me here yesterday, but when I told Byram, we suddenly realized..." she breaks off, unable to continue. She gives an imploring look to her husband, and he offers her a small nod, a hint of a sad smile on his face.

Guinevere sees this exchange, then moves to sit beside Sawyer on the bed. "Sawyer, would you like to live with this nice couple? They would love to add you to their family."

He looks at them, then at Guinevere. "I can't stay here?"

She smiles, blinking back tears. "I'm afraid not. I'm... not able to take care of you all the time. I normally work very long hours in the castle. I look after the ailing king, and he has missed me while I've been here with you. And there's just me. If you go with Byram and Hollis, you'd have a mother _and_ a father."

Sawyer looks at the butcher and his wife again. "All right," he says. "I can come visit you?"

"Of course you can. As long as you have permission," Guinevere answers.

"Is he... when will he be well enough to come home with us?" Hollis asks.

"I think he is well enough already," Guinevere responds. "Oh!" she exclaims as Sawyer suddenly flings his arms around her in a tight hug.

"Thank you, Miss Gwen," he says.

"You're welcome, Sawyer."

xXx

"Well, that was..." Guinevere starts to say, but her words become choked off by emotion. Sawyer has just left with Byram and Hollis, and her house suddenly feels very empty. She drops her head and lets the tears come.

Arthur wraps his arms around her from behind, then turns her so she is facing him. She rests her head on his chest and he simply holds her, letting her release the emotions she has been holding in. The stress of pretending to be Sawyer's mother, the worry for his health, and the bittersweet conclusion of sending him off to a good home all pour out of her and onto the prince's shirt.

"It's all right," Arthur whispers, stroking her hair, her back. "He is a good lad, and Byram and Hollis will take excellent care of him."

"I know," she replies, exhaling heavily. She lifts her head to look at him. "I'll see him again," she reminds herself.

He reaches up and brushes the tears from her cheeks. "Yes," he agrees. He kisses her forehead, closing his eyes, wishing he could tell her his deepest hopes: that one day, the two of them will have a son like Sawyer. Or a daughter. Or both.

When he opens his eyes, he sees her looking into his soul and knows that she understands. She knows his hopes because hers are the same.

"One day," he promises again, leaning down to kiss her. _Soon._


	21. Roommates AU

"Seriously?" Guinevere softly asks, watching in disbelief as Morgana drags Merlin to her bedroom. _Their_ bedroom. The one she and Morgana share. _Merlin_ shares a room on the other side of the flat with Arthur.

"Bloody..." Arthur's comment falls on the tail of Guinevere's and they are left staring in the direction of the closed bedroom door, not sure what to do.

Neither of them had any idea that their other two flatmates were interested in each other. Morgana and Merlin seemed pretty surprised by it as well. What had been turning into a very ugly argument took an unexpected turn. It concluded with shouted declarations of love and Morgana jumping on Merlin, kissing him senseless.

Guinevere can't even remember what the two of them were arguing about. _Surely something _very_ important._ She's too busy being hurt to really try to remember. She's hurt that she's just been shut out of her room for probably the entire night, but she's more hurt that her best friend hadn't confided in her that she fancied Merlin.

She sighs and looks at Arthur. His expression mirrors hers. "Should we finish the dishes?" he finally asks, recovering first.

_Yes. The dishes. That's what the argument was about._ She nods. "I don't suppose they'll get finished any other way," she answers, standing. "Do you prefer washing or drying?"

"I prefer a dishwasher," he laughs. "But it doesn't matter. I'll do whichever you don't like."

"You can dry then," she smiles, tossing him the towel. "I hate drying."

They work quietly, only talking occasionally. Perhaps it is the newness of the situation in which they have suddenly found themselves, but neither of them feels particularly talkative.

They don't feel awkward with one another; they've been flatmates too long for that. But they are both rather aware of what is happening in the closed bedroom, even though they can hear nothing.

"I had no idea," Arthur finally comments, reaching to put away a glass.

"I didn't either," Guinevere answers. "I can't believe Morgana never told me."

"I can't believe she wasn't calling out his name in her sleep," he chuckles. "She talks in her sleep, you know," he adds, looking at her.

She looks at him. "Yes. I know," she pointedly answers, a teasing smile on her face.

"Oh, right," he laughs louder now, reaching for a plate. His hand lands on something soft and slippery, and his laughter stops.

He looks down and sees his hand covering hers on the edge of the plate, then glances over and sees she's staring at the same thing. Then she looks up at him.

"Oh," he softly exclaims and lifts his hand. She withdraws hers as well, reaching back into the wash water for a cooking pot she'd left to soak. He picks up the plate.

_I don't think I've ever touched her before. Not her skin anyway._ Arthur stares at the plate in his hands, absently rubbing it with the towel as he thinks about how her skin felt under his fingers.

_What was that?_ Guinevere scrubs the pot, pondering the feel of his warm hand over hers and the curious reaction she felt in her stomach. When she rinses the pot, she risks a peek at him and sees he is _still_ drying that same plate. "I think it's dry," she softly says.

"Right," he replies, opening a cupboard to put the plate away. He surreptitiously watches her out of the corner of his eye. He's sure she appears slightly flushed, and if it wasn't for the suddenness of the dusky pink tinge in her cheeks, he might have attributed it to the hot dishwater. He tries to ignore the fact that his own cheeks feel a bit warm as well.

xXx

Merlin and Morgana have yet to surface.

Guinevere is nodding on the end of the couch. She and Arthur found a movie on TV after they finished in the kitchen, and an hour and a half later, she is having trouble keeping her eyes open.

Arthur, on the other hand, has been watching his flatmate more than the movie – he's seen this one a hundred times anyway – as he tries to sort out why such a simple touch has him so distracted.

She wills her eyes open for what feels like the tenth time, and decides to sit up a bit more, hoping to stay awake until Arthur retires to his room. He's been stretched out in his recliner, and while she's grateful she has the whole couch to herself, she kind of wishes she was sharing it with him. _His presence would distract me enough that I could stay awake,_ she reasons, more willing to admit her attraction in her sleepy state.

"You should get some sleep," Arthur suggests.

"I wish I had my pillow. This couch is pretty comfortable, but if I had my..."

"The couch?" he asks. "Surely you're not thinking of sleeping on _that._"

"Well, I certainly can't go in _there,_" she answers, waving her arm at the still-closed bedroom door. It's quiet now, but there were a few sounds drifting out earlier they only acknowledged by turning up the volume on the television.

"You can sleep in Merlin's bed," he suggests. "I think it's clean."

"Splendid," she answers. Arthur may be unreasonably handsome, remarkably fit, and one of the sweetest guys she's ever known, but... he snores.

So does Morgana, now that she thinks of it. Must be a family trait. But Morgana snores more quietly. However, given that she also talks in her sleep, maybe Guinevere will get a better deal sharing a room with Arthur.

"My snoring isn't any worse than my sister's," he says, smiling a little as he guesses her thoughts.

_It's not only that._ She clears her throat. "I wasn't..."

"Yes, you were," he counters, his smile broadening. "It's all right." _I don't know if I'll be able to sleep with her in the same room anyway._ The thought surprises him somewhat. Before tonight, he had never really thought about Guinevere in a romantic light, but it suddenly seems that is the only way he is able to think about her. _Is one touch really all it takes?_

"I'm sorry. It's a bed, which is better than the couch, right? I mean, it's not _my_ bed, but..."

He turns the TV off and stands. "Come on, then." He sounds more sure of himself than he is, and finds he is thankful for his father's insistence that he learn to conceal his emotions most of the time. It was one thing in a very long list of reasons why he stepped out from under Uther's very long shadow to be his own man, but right now, he's glad he has this skill in his tool kit. He's not sure how long he'll be able to keep it up though.

She hesitates a moment, then stands and follows him to his room. _I have nothing to wear._ The thought makes her steps falter a moment, but she reasons she could sleep in her clothes if she has to. The thought of killing Morgana in the morning crosses her mind.

"Um, sorry about the clutter. Merlin isn't the neatest..." Arthur apologizes, nudging books and various electronics aside with his foot. He also taps a football with his toe, sending it under his own bed.

"It's all right. Neither is Morgana," Guinevere replies. She gingerly picks up the corner of Merlin's duvet, sighs, and removes a book from the center of the bed with a fondly amused shake of her head. The bed is rumpled, but smells clean, so she sets about straightening the rumpled linens.

"Do you... want a shirt and some shorts or something?" Arthur asks. When she turns to look at him, he's got a couple of garments in his hands. "Um, I didn't think you'd want to sleep in your clothes..."

She looks at Arthur, studying him. "I think your shorts might be too big, but your shirt should cover," she says, cursing how hot her face feels and how hard her heart is pounding.

His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Oh. Right," he says, stepping closer to offer her the shirt in his hand. "Um, this one is really soft so I thought it might be comfortable for sleeping," he quietly says.

"Thank you," she answers, her voice even softer than his. Their fingers brush again when she takes the shirt – one of his Arsenal t-shirts, she now sees – and she almost drops the garment. "You can use the bathroom first. I guarantee I'll take longer," she says, chuckling nervously.

"Oh. Right. I'll, uh, knock before I come back in then?" he replies, wincing slightly at how his statement, which he meant to be respectful, came out sounding more like a question.

She nods, and he leaves, taking the shorts he had in his other hand with him. Guinevere sinks down onto Merlin's bed. _Great. Great. Great. Merlin and Morgana hook up on the very same night I realize I'm really attracted to Arthur. _She looks at the shirt Arthur gave her to wear, and begins changing, resigned to the fact that she will be doing _no_ sleeping tonight. _It's Morgana's fault. If she hadn't had a tantrum about doing the dishes – it _was_ her night, Merlin was right – none of this would have happened. I would still be blissfully unaware of how much I want to climb into Arthur's bed instead of sleeping alone in Merlin's._

She pulls the t-shirt (which is as soft as promised) over her head, the weight of her thoughts settling over her. _Just to cuddle. And sleep. Not sex._

_ Not yet._

Guinevere sighs and combs her fingers through her curls, tapping her bare feet on the carpet.

Arthur knocks softly and she jumps. "It's all right," she calls, and he slowly opens the door. "I'm decent, Arthur," she says, laughing a little.

He steps into the room, wearing only the shorts. _Oh, dear._ Guinevere stands, trying not to stare. She's seen him shirtless plenty of times, but never in such an intimate setting. Or alone with him in a room containing beds.

Arthur's eyes drop to her bare legs, never having realized how long they are. The red t-shirt falls about one-third of the way down her thighs, leaving plenty of skin exposed. His mouth goes dry, and he returns his gaze to her face, unable to find anything to say that doesn't sound weird or too forward. He turns to put his clothes in his basket and she wills her feet to move.

xXx

When Guinevere returns, Arthur is in bed, but sitting up. "I was going to ask you if you read before you go to sleep, but then I realized any books would probably be in your room," he says.

She walks over to Merlin's bed, her hair hanging in a single braid down her back, face scrubbed clean of the light makeup she generally wears. Arthur thinks she somehow looks even more attractive as he watches her without trying to look like he's watching her.

"Usually, I watch telly for a bit," she says. "But if that's going to bother you—"

"No, it's fine. But I'm guessing you don't watch footy highlights," he chuckles, switching the lights off and the TV on.

"Anything is fine," she answers, settling into the bed.

"What do you usually watch?" he asks, trying to be a good host.

"Cooking shows," she says. "But I'm so tired you could put on a crap reality program and I wouldn't care."

Arthur flips channels for a while, occasionally glancing over at Guinevere. She's cuddled into Merlin's bed, duvet up to her chin, even though it is summer. _She looks adorable._ He settles on a nature program about the Great Barrier Reef narrated by someone with a very soothing voice. "This do?"

"Mmm-hmm," she answers. "I like these kinds of shows."

They watch for a short time, stealing glances across the room at one another. At one point, Arthur sees her eyes are closed, so he turns the TV off and settles in to try and get some sleep.

Try. As though the subject of his very-new infatuation isn't a short distance away. As though he cannot smell her hair due to her proximity and closed door.

Guinevere was glad when he turned off the television, and despite her tiredness, sleep is evading her. She turns over, trying to be quiet about it. _Maybe if I face the wall._

_No good. I still know he's behind me._ She's still a bit thrown by how quickly this _thing_ with Arthur turned from a spark caused by the touch of a hand to full-on distracting attraction. Her mind is whirring with thoughts, possibilities, and what-ifs. She seems unable to turn her mind to something else. And Merlin's bed is softer than hers and she's having trouble getting comfortable. She turns again.

"Are you awake?" Arthur's voice is quiet, like he doesn't wish to wake her if she is actually asleep.

"Am I keeping you up?" Guinevere replies, concerned that she's preventing him from sleeping.

_Not for the reasons you think you are._ "No... I can't sleep either," he answers. Feeling braver in the dark, he tentatively says, "I liked spending time with you tonight."

She feels a smile tugging at her lips. "I enjoyed it, too," she responds.

"I would... um, that is to say, would _you_ like to spend more time together? With me?" he asks, his voice even softer.

"I'd like that very much," she answers with no hesitation.

He grins in the darkness, warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with summer. "Me, too." He wonders how he never noticed her before, and if she thought of him in this way before tonight, but is afraid to ask. He doesn't want to look like an idiot if she's been pining for him all this time and he never noticed.

"I don't usually enjoy doing dishes, but tonight... I did," she quietly volunteers. Then, throwing caution to the wind, she adds, "Especially when you tried to grab that plate and found my hand instead."

"That was the best part," he agrees. He hears her shift and squirm again. "Is Merlin's bed not comfortable?"

_Bugger._ She was hoping he hadn't noticed. "It's quite a bit softer than mine," she admits.

He knows Merlin's bed is ridiculously plush. He sat on it once and thought he was going to be swallowed up in it. _Do I dare?_ He clears his throat. "You can share mine. I don't mean to be too forward, but mine is much firmer," he offers. "The bed, I mean," he quickly and awkwardly clarifies.

Guinevere snorts a sudden laugh, and ponders his offer. _This _is_ what you wanted, Gwen. And it definitely beats waking up with a sore back._ "You don't mind?"

_Mind? Why would I mind?_ "It's a queen sized bed. Plenty of room," Arthur answers. Then he winces and adds, "No, I don't mind at all. If we're not sleeping, may as well be comfortable, right?"

"I suppose there is some logic to that," she allows, and flips the duvet off. She pulls the t-shirt down to cover herself before standing, even though the room is very dark and he probably wouldn't be able to see anything, then stands and crosses over to his bed.

He scoots over, flips the blanket back, then pats the mattress. She bites her lip and climbs in beside him, tugging the hem of her shirt down again. She knows it's a losing battle, but still tries. _If he sees that I'm wearing knickers with cats on them, oh well._ In the back of her mind, she realizes he may eventually be seeing a fair amount more than some cat pants anyway, but right now, it is still too new to be comfortable showing him her underwear.

"Better?" he asks, lying carefully beside her, not touching her, though he very much wants to.

An impulsive thought strikes her, and she hesitates for just a second before deciding to indulge it. "Almost," she says, then scoots closer to him. She moves slowly enough for him to figure out what she is doing and turn her away if he so chooses.

When he lifts his arm to welcome her to him, her heart leaps. She cuddles against his chest, settling in quite nicely.

"You're right, this is better," he comments.

She nods, her eyes closing. "Thank you," she says.

"My pleasure," he replies, looking down at her. He can't really see her sweet face in the dark, but it is clear in his mind's eye. He traces a finger down her cheek and whispers, "May I kiss you, Guinevere?"

Her eyes open. Her name sounds so _good_ when he says it. She tries to remember the other times he's said her name and if it sounded like _that._ Unable to speak, she slowly blinks once, then nods and answers, "Yes."

He leans down as she lifts her face, meeting him in a soft, sweet kiss. It isn't a long or deep, passionate kiss, but when he lifts his head, they both stare at one another like the world has shifted slightly.

"Good night," he whispers, kissing her forehead.

"Good night," she answers, settling in against his chest again.

Sleep doesn't seem so elusive anymore.


	22. Dressed Up

Arthur has seen Guinevere dressed in fine gowns before. There was the time she wore Morgana's dress when she was kidnapped. And one other time, a time he doubts even she knows about, when he walked past Morgana's quarters and his foster sister's joyful squeals of encouragement reached his ears and made him turn his head to look in through the open door. Guinevere was standing, looking rather embarrassed, wearing a dress her mistress had recently received and did not care for. The pale peachy-pink color did not favor Morgana, but it looked beautiful against her maidservant warm complexion. He remembers his steps slowing, his eyes fixing on her attractive form. Swallowing, his throat dry and his face hot as he thought about how he had kissed her, then told her Uther would never understand.

He picked up his pace and continued down the corridor before she saw him. He hoped.

Guinevere is always beautiful, whether dressed in her best pink dress to meet him for a picnic in the woods or in her brown trousers and cream tunic with the fur wrap to go and rescue her brother from Cenred. Hair pinned up or hanging loose, face scrubbed clean or smudged with dirt, it doesn't matter to Arthur. His Guinevere somehow manages to look lovelier each time he sees her.

He's learned that she is always beautiful to him because he loves her. He's learned that beauty actually comes from within.

The Lady Morgana was always lauded as a great beauty. However, her soul has been exposed to the world as ugly, bitter, and hateful. The darkness of the Lady's heart detracts from her outer beauty, while the goodness within Guinevere's enhances hers.

He's realized all this because of his interactions with her. By paying attention to what she and other people he previously thought beneath him have to say. His father tried to raise him to be noble, but in truth, Arthur's _true_ nobility was brought out by the faith, support, and love of a maidservant.

So, to Arthur, Guinevere is and will always be the most beautiful woman in Camelot. In all the seven kingdoms. The world.

Even so, he was not prepared to see her in her wedding dress.

He was nervous enough.

There was so much turmoil recently, but they decided to put it all behind them and face the future together.

Because they knew no other way. He needs her. She needs him. That's all there is to it.

Once the kingdom was rebuilt enough, another royal wedding was planned. It wasn't as lavish as the original event, but it would not do to have such an affair on the heels of all that had happened.

Arthur barely slept the night before, his thoughts ranging from elation to panic, one minute feeling near to bursting with love for her, the next feeling petrified that she wouldn't show up the next day and he'd be left standing in the front of the great hall, alone.

Not that he doubted her. He will never doubt her again. What he doubts is his own worth. Even though he is the king and she has been a commoner her whole life, deep down he sometimes feels it is _he_ who is not worthy of _her_ love. His fear is that she will decide that his flaws are too many and too deep. That she will decide to return to a simpler existence in Ealdor, unmarried, rather than stay here with him as his wife and queen.

So when the large doors suddenly open and her petite form appears there, hand on her brother's arm, his knees nearly give way out of sheer relief.

No. He will never doubt her again. As soon as he sees her, he knows this. She is like a soothing balm on his heart and he takes a very brief moment to berate himself for his irrational fears.

They have already said their vows, privately, for only their own ears to hear. Apologies offered and accepted. Promises made. Words meant only for them; words tearfully whispered in an almost desperate embrace far too late one night not long ago. Words the kingdom will not and should not hear.

Arthur blinks his tired eyes, focusing on the vision walking towards him. Her hair is partly up, but with long, loose ringlets cascading around bare brown shoulders. He thinks he can see pearls and little silvery-white ribbons woven into it. Her dress shimmers like it is made of moonlight; tight around her torso with a long, flowing skirt that trails behind her. She is holding white flowers that he recognizes but cannot name.

He has never seen her looking lovelier. He has never seen anyone looking lovelier, and he continues to stare, trying to cement the image in his memory. She catches his eye and smiles. It is the slow, sweet smile she has reserved only for him, and he feels his knees threatening to buckle once again.

_Steady, Arthur._ He returns her smile and stops himself from leaving his place to go meet her. _Why is the aisle so long?_

Finally she reaches him, but he still cannot touch her, needing to first wait until Elyan gives her to him.

He almost laughs when Geoffrey asks the question. He knows no one is _giving_ Guinevere to him. He knows she is coming of her own free will, regardless of her brother's – her _younger_ brother's – blessing.

He knows that while no one is giving her to him, she is still a gift.

Elyan steps back with a deferential nod to his king, and Arthur takes her free hand. It is small, but strong, and... _trembling? Or is that me?_

"You look incredibly beautiful," he whispers, unable to help himself.

"Thank you," she answers, surprised at his disregard for protocol.

Geoffrey pointedly clears his throat and Arthur nods.

Neither of them pays much heed to the ceremony. They do all the correct things, say all the correct words. No one notices their inattentiveness, not even Merlin.

xXx

The feast is elegant but not lavish. Like the simpler wedding, Arthur and Guinevere did not feel an extravagant affair would be appropriate.

The king and his bride sit close together, talking quietly in each other's ears, occasionally stealing small kisses. Arthur always seems to be touching her in some way – his hand resting on hers, his knee pressed against hers beneath the table. He longs to caress her face, thread his fingers into her hair, and press his lips to her neck. He longs to trail kisses down, following the lines of her collarbone as he works his way to her shoulder.

He longs for this feast to be over so he can be alone with his wife. He thinks about the night ahead, and sighs when he realizes she'll be whisked away to be "prepared" for him, so he won't even get the pleasure of unlacing her beautiful gown…

_Wait. Am I or am I not the king?_

"Merlin," Arthur calls, waving him over.

"More wine?" Merlin asks, lifting his pitcher.

"No, no..." Arthur answers, moving his half-full goblet out of the way. He beckons Merlin closer and quietly gives him a few instructions.

"Really? She's not going to like that," Merlin says, his eyes flitting over to Guinevere, who is looking on with interest. "Not you, my lady," he quickly says. "I was talking about… someone else."

She looks puzzled, but nods, trusting her friend.

"Merlin…"

"Right," Merlin says, holding his free hand up in surrender. "You're the king. No one questions the king."

"Except you," Arthur dryly comments.

"Except me. And your wife," Merlin replies. Then he dashes away to find the head maid to tell her that Lady Guinevere will not be needing her services this evening as the king has chosen to attend his wife.

"What was that about?" Guinevere asks, curious.

"Um… I was simply changing traditions. Again," he says, lifting her hand and kissing it. "I hope you don't mind. Edith and the other maids won't be coming to whisk you away and prepare you for tonight," he says. "I… I wish to attend you myself."

"Oh," she replies, surprised.

"If you would rather…" he starts, his cheeks reddening.

His blush is so adorable that any reservations she may have had about the tradition – one she always found a little strange – vanish. "No, it's fine," she softly answers, her cheeks flushing a little as well as she thinks about the night ahead. Her stomach flutters and she feels the warmth in her cheeks spread, moving lower.

He leans over and kisses her cheek. "I'm nervous, too," he admits, nuzzling her silken skin.

xXx

Arthur's fingers tremble only slightly as they pull the laces free, loosening the bodice of Guinevere's wedding dress.

She fidgets with her hair, having swept it over one shoulder to keep it out of his way. The ribbons and strings of pearls are still in place, and she raises her hands to pull them free, distracting herself by thinking that if she was a _real_ lady she might be irritated that her new husband has denied her the services of a maidservant to assist with such a thing. _Good thing I was not raised to be a noble._ She is more than capable of attending to her own needs, and pulls the last ribbon free just as she feels the bodice fall away.

The next thing she feels is his fingers untying the ribbons at the back of her dress, followed by the soft press of his lips on the curve of her shoulder as the garment drops. It hangs for a moment on her hands and hips, and she pushes it the rest of the way off until it is an iridescent white puddle around her feet and she is left standing in her strapless shift.

Arthur places his hands on her shoulders, his fingers warm, his touch gentle. Guinevere pulls a few pins and a decorative comb from her hair and sets them with the ribbons and pearls on a nearby table. When her hair tumbles completely free, Arthur's hands move, delving into the mass of her dark curls, tenderly threading his fingers through them.

She turns to face him, places her hands on his chest, on the red and gold brocade vest he is wearing. "Thank you for not wearing armor," she says.

He smiles, chuckling fondly. "It didn't seem right somehow," he replies, his hands on her waist, feeling the silk of her dress sliding beneath his palms.

She moves her hands, sliding them under the vest and then up, easing it from his shoulders. He allows it to fall from his arms, joining her clothing on the floor, before reaching down and undoing his sword belt himself.

Guinevere shyly bites her lower lip, then takes his shirt in her hands, pulling upwards.

Divested of his shirt, Arthur leans down and places a sweet, simple kiss on her lips. "Sit," he whispers, guiding her to the bed.

She puzzles a moment, but does as she has been bidden. When he kneels in front of her and takes her foot in his hand, she understands.

He removes her slippers one at a time, carefully setting them out of the way. He ponders her stockinged legs for a moment. He knows they should go, but doesn't want to startle her. _On the other hand, this _is_our wedding night, so… _He squares his shoulders and slides his hands up one of her legs, beneath her skirts, moving slowly enough for her to tell him to stop should she want.

She says nothing, fascinated, and becoming very… _agitated? No, that's not right. Anxious? A little. Aroused. Yes, that's it._ When his fingers find the edge of her stocking, just above her knee, she softly gasps. His warm, slightly rough fingertips brush her bare skin as they find the ribbons at the top of the stocking. He tugs and then slides the garment down, now unable to avoid touching her skin. It is as silky as the material of her gown. More so. And warmer.

Guinevere shivers as the first stocking hits the floor, the cool air a welcome sensation on her quickly-overheating skin. When Arthur moves to her other leg, she decides to help by lifting the skirt of her shift so he can actually see what he is doing.

Of course, this also allows him to see her already-bared leg, and his eyes are helplessly drawn to it, flitting back and forth between the stockinged leg and the bare one, unable to decide which he prefers.

She thinks she hears him softly mutter something just before he shakes his head and returns to his task.

Both stockings gone, he leans forward and kisses her leg, just above the knee on the inside. She gasps again.

"Am I moving too fast? I don't want to make you uncomfortable," he says, misinterpreting her response.

"No, you're not," she answers. "I'm not uncomfortable at all." In truth, she is getting a little uncomfortable, but it's not because he's moving too _fast._

He stands, then gently pulls her to her feet again. She reaches up with one hand and caresses his cheek, then lifts up on tiptoe to kiss him. He seems taller than he usually does, and she realizes it's because he still has his boots on while she is now barefoot.

"Sit," she instructs, echoing his earlier command.

He obeys, and now she kneels before him, taking his boot in her hands. She deftly removes both boots and socks, then stands before him.

They ponder each other for a moment, each glaringly aware that they each have only one garment left before all their secrets are revealed at last. He moves first, pulling her onto his lap.

"Hello, Wife," Arthur says, his hands shyly roaming her body through the thin material of her shift. He doesn't move on to any delicate areas yet, but it is definitely more than he's touched her before.

"Hello, Husband," Guinevere replies, placing one hand on his chest. She can feel his heart beating beneath her palm, strong and steady. She leans forward to kiss him and she's fairly sure she can feel his heartbeat speed up.

He groans low in his throat and a few seconds later, she finds herself on her back beneath him on the bed, returning his deep, ardent kisses with abandon.

"Guinevere..." he murmurs against her lips, moving to her neck, "I love you so much."

She smiles, siding her fingers into his hair, gently guiding his head so she can look at him when she replies, "I love you, too, Arthur. With all my heart."

He smiles, nuzzles her nose, then reaches for the ties at the front of her shift. "With all my heart," he echoes, and pulls the ribbons free.


	23. Coffeeshop AU

"Excuse me… _Excuse me_," a loud voice prompts Arthur to look up, irritated, from his phone. There is a dark-haired man with a Barbie doll of a woman standing at the register. He looks annoyed. She is pouting, and clearly attempting to look very pretty about it.

The barista, a very attractive young woman, is in the middle of taking another customer's order, but the man will not be deterred.

"Oi… we need some assistance here," he cranes his neck to look at the barista's nametag, "_Gwen,_" he sneers her name.

"I'll be with you in a moment, sir," she politely answers, then returns to her customer, handing him his change.

"My girlfriend is in pain, and she's making me wait," he announces to the coffeeshop, gesturing grandly with his arms before leaning back against the counter. His proclamation is met with general indifference.

"Yeah, she really looks like she's in pain," Arthur mutters to himself, rolling his eyes. He is a regular at this coffeeshop, and has never seen this couple before. He likes the atmosphere and the coffee – and the pretty barista doesn't hurt the ambience at all, either. She knows his drink of choice, and prepares it exactly the way he likes it, sometimes drawing little pictures on his cup.

"I'm sorry," Gwen says, turning to the complaining man. "How can I help you?"

"My girlfriend burned her tongue on the coffee you served."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. But coffee is a hot beverage, so care should be tak—"

"She is a model and can't have any physical flaws! But now, because of your negligence, she's not going to be able to make her scheduled photo shoot today," he blusters, cutting her off.

His tone is very confrontational and aggressive. Arthur does not like it at all. He has no right to speak to her that way.

"I'm sorry, did you say she burned her _tongue_? Does she do toothpaste adverts?" Gwen asks, genuinely befuddled.

"How dare you! We demand our money back, and I insist you apologize to Vivian!" he yells.

Arthur stands up and begins walking to the counter.

"I would like to speak to your manager! I want the owner's phone number! We will sue you and you will have to close up shop! Your negligence is causing Vivian anxiety and lost wages!"

"What negligence would this be then?" The question comes from Arthur, standing behind the complaining man.

He whirls around. "There should be some sort of warning on the cup stating that the beverage is hot, _obviously_," he answers, his voice dripping with disdain. He clearly thinks Arthur's question is inane.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow, glances at Gwen, who is now standing with her mouth agape, and evenly asks, "You mean like something that says, 'Caution: Hot'?" He's impressed with himself for being able to deliver the question with a straight face.

He lifts the cup of cocoa in his hand and points to the side of the cup. Emblazoned on the side like a cattle brand – in two places – are the words "Caution: Hot". It is also on Gwen's t-shirt. And the large menu board. Stamped on the walls. Glowing in red neon in the window. And hanging on the outside of the building.

It's the name of the establishment.

"Cenred, can we go? I'm bored, Pooky," Vivian finally speaks. She is obviously over whatever trauma she may have suffered. Her speech, while high-pitched and child-like, is perfectly clear.

"Sounds to me like she's made a full recovery," Arthur says.

Cenred glowers, looking daggers at him. "We can still sue," he snaps.

"Well, if you're hell-bent on suing someone, give me a call," Arthur produces a card from his pocket and hands it to him. "I'm a barrister with Pendragon &amp; Pendragon."

Cenred's eyes widen. So do Gwen's. Vivian yawns. Pendragon &amp; Pendragon is the largest, most powerful law firm in Camelot. Cenred looks down at the card and softly curses when he sees the name on it.

"Piss off," he spits, flicking the card to the ground. He grabs Vivian's wrist and stalks from the shop. The other patrons applaud as he leaves.

Arthur ignores the impromptu audience and walks up to Gwen, picking up his card on the way.

"Thank you," she says. "He was…"

"A total wanker," Arthur supplies.

"I was going to say 'a difficult customer', but you aren't wrong," she laughs.

"You're very welcome. He had no right to speak to you that way," he says, twirling his card around with his fingers.

"Rude customers are a part of the job," she replies with a light shrug. "He was ruder than most, but you learn to let it roll off."

Arthur shakes his head. "If there is one thing I can't stand, it's people who think they are better than others."

"Yeah, I get a lot of that, standing behind the counter like this," Gwen answers. She leans towards him. "I actually own this place," she quietly tells him, as though it is a secret. "But I enjoy the work; I like making drinks for people. That's why I opened this place and stay out here doing this."

"That's quite admirable," he says, smiling. "You do make an excellent cup of cocoa, I will grant that."

"Thank you. Is that why you're here almost every day?" she asks, returning his very infectious smile.

"Partly," he answers. "I like the atmosphere." He pauses, gathering his courage, and adds, "And the people. One person in particular."

She bites her lower lip and looks down, blushing prettily. _Oh, God, he's chatting me up and I look a mess._ "Merlin, right?" she tries to deflect with a joke, pointing at the tall, skinny man with large ears and black hair who has just emerged from the back. He is covered with a light dusting of flour and has a tray of muffins and scones in his hands.

"Huh?" he asks, having heard his name.

Arthur chuckles, shaking his head a little. "Yes, I fancy your baker," he says. He slides his hand across the counter and lightly touches her hand with his fingertips. "Can I take you to dinner sometime?" he asks.

"I'd like that," she says before she can think too hard about it. Her heart started racing as soon as he touched her. She reaches for a card and writes her number on the back of it. "Here. It… has the shop's hours on it, too, so… so you know when you can reach me… um, not like you don't see me here every day or anything, but…" she sighs, flustered. "You know what I mean."

He smiles, endeared by her ramblings, and lightly takes the pen from her fingers. He writes his mobile number on the back of the card still in his hand. "You can always call this number," he says, inwardly wincing at how desperate it might sound. "And I hope you give this card more care than its previous owner," he adds.

"I will," she says, slipping the card into her pocket. Another customer comes in and Arthur steps aside to allow her to do her job.

He takes his phone out to enter her number into his contacts. The name Guinevere Smith is printed in the corner. "Guinevere," he says, smiling. "That's a great name."

"Um, thanks," she replies, taken slightly by surprise. She's never liked her full name, not really, always found it to be too much of a mouthful. But when Arthur says it, she doesn't hate it as much. She hands the customer his plain black coffee and returns her attention to Arthur. "I mostly go by Gwen though."

"I gathered that," he answers, half-smiling at her. He notes the time and knows he needs to go or his father will have his head for being late. "I have to go to work now, but I'll call you later. I promise."

"All right," she answers, smiling at him.

He gazes at her for a moment, then leans across the counter and kisses her cheek. "Have a good day, Guinevere," he quietly says, his chocolate-scented breath warm against her ear.

"You too, Arthur," she answers, her stomach wobbling deliciously.

He gives her one more soft smile, then turns and exits the coffee shop, looking back to give her one final wave before disappearing into the city.

She watches him leave, staring at the door long after he is no longer visible.

"Miss? Miss?"

"Oh, terribly sorry. How can I help you?" Gwen asks, shifting her brain back into Work Mode.

"Don't be sorry, he was really cute," the woman answers. "Bit young for me, and I'm married anyway, but I'm neither blind nor dead, right?"

"Right," Gwen agrees. "What can I get for you?" she asks. _Today is going to be a long day._

_Maybe I'll call him at lunchtime._


	24. How Long Have You Been In Love?

"Arthur, we have known each other for a very long time, have we not?" Sir Leon asks as they ride through the forest, returning to Camelot after a trip to the northern border.

"I cannot remember a time when I did not know you, Leon. I consider you more than just one of my knights. You have been a trusted friend all these years as well." Arthur answers. "What is on your mind?"

Leon presses his lips together, choosing his words carefully. He's practiced asking this question countless ways, but now that he's finally going to ask, he almost chickens out. Unfortunately, he can't think of an alternate topic to which to redirect.

In the end, he simply spits it out. "How long have you been in love with Gwen?"

"What?" Arthur's voice drops nearly an octave, sounding almost menacing.

"Forgive my bluntness, my lord, but I could not think of a more delicate way of asking," Leon says, eyes flicking to see if his prince is reaching for his sword. "It's just that… I mean… not that I've _meant_ to see certain things… but I cannot help noticing…" He swallows and tries a different tactic. "I have known Gwen longer than I have known you, Sire. Her mother was my mother's handmaiden and, well, she and I sort of grew up together, so I do harbor some… protective…" Arthur gives him an alarmed look, and Leon doesn't want him to misunderstand, so he quickly says, "_Brotherly_ feelings for her. I, er, simply wish to know that… your intentions are…"

"Honorable?" Arthur supplies, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"Um, yes."

Arthur sighs, any anger he may have felt at his knight's line of question dissipating as he feels the wave of despair again over the fact that he can never have the woman he loves. _My father would never understand._ He wished he could take those words back as soon as he said them. But it doesn't make them any less true. "My feelings do not matter," he quietly says.

"Of course they do," Leon replies.

"Not to my father," Arthur counters. He looks over at the other man. "I'm going to have to marry for the good of the kingdom. _I_ don't get to choose my wife; _he_ does. It is… my duty as the prince." He anticipates Leon's next remark and says, "And I have no intention of making her my mistress. She deserves better than that." _Someone like Lancelot._ He feels sick even thinking it, feels the hot, unpleasant wave of jealousy crash over him again as he remembers her tears over the would-be knight's disappearance. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows Lancelot would make his Guinevere happy if given the opportunity. _And her happiness should be enough for me._

Leon thoughtfully nods. "She does. She deserves better than some stable boy or manservant." His comment suggests he is unaware of the attraction between Guinevere and Lancelot, and instead is concerned about her relationship with Merlin.

"She and Merlin are only friends," Arthur answers too quickly. He clears his throat. "Merlin knows," he softly adds.

"I assumed as much," Leon says. "But I didn't specifically mean Merlin. Gwen is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She is looked on favorably by everyone in the castle, and I'm sure there are several men who—"

"Yes, thank you, Leon," Arthur interrupts, holding up one hand. "You don't need to make me a list of Guinevere's potential suitors."

Leon closes his mouth and is quiet for a short time. "You could try," he suggests.

"Try what?" Arthur replies, his voice harsh with frustration. "Talking to my father? Out of the question. There is absolutely no way he would ever agree to allowing me to choose my own bride, much less a commoner, no matter how noble her character. No matter how much I love her."

"So... you _do_ love her?" Leon cautiously asks.

Arthur humphs a noncommittal answer that Leon decides is a definitive "Yes".

xXx

"Sir Leon," Guinevere says, nodding deferentially to the knight as he walks past. Olaf and Vivian have _finally_ left (with the still-enchanted Vivian wailing and carrying on), and she is looking forward to things going back to a relative state of normal.

"Gwen," Leon replies, stopping near her. She has a basket full of linens from Vivian's quarters.

"Yes?" she stops.

"Are you all right?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "I know recent events must have been trying."

She blinks, keeping her composure. "Well, Vivian was… probably the worst person I've ever had to serve, but it was only temporary, so…"

He steps a little closer, guiding them into a more secluded area. "I'm not talking about that," he quietly says. Before she can pretend to be baffled again, he continues. "I saw you go into the tent, Gwen. And after you came out, he was better."

"H-he was enchanted," she whispers. "I think Vivian still is."

"You broke it. Arthur's enchantment."

She nods, looking down.

"How long have you loved him?" he asks, his voice gentle. Like a concerned older brother.

She looks up, wide-eyed. "I—"

"Don't worry; I won't tell," he says. "I think it's wonderful, to be honest. I can't think of anyone better for him."

"It can never be," she sighs. She's getting tired of reminding herself. Arthur seems so confident about it. She cannot afford to be so optimistic.

Leon tilts his head to the side. "Never say 'never', Gwen." He gives her shoulder a gentle, friendly squeeze, smiles encouragingly, then dashes off to training.

xXx

A year later, when Guinevere leaps into Arthur's arms after she and Sir Leon find his hiding place in the forest caves, Leon is not surprised.

When she stands and declares her loyalty to him with a simple, "You know the answer," Leon wonders who else among their company catches the unspoken communication between their prince and his beloved handmaiden.

When Guinevere openly kisses Arthur the night before the battle, he knows they will be victorious.

And, after they bring her back to their prince and he kisses her in the courtyard, he can only look on and smile, knowing that one day, his dear friend, born a commoner, raised to serve the nobility, will one day be their queen.


	25. Caught in a Rainstorm AU

_Tonight? Are you sure that's a good idea?_ Merlin's words come back to haunt Arthur as he glances skyward once again. The dark gray bank of clouds is coming closer. His hand drifts to his pocket again, feeling for the item he has stashed there.

"Arthur?" Guinevere prompts, drawing his attention back to her. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sorry. How was your day?" he asks, smiling.

"Surprisingly uneventful. People actually left me alone and I was able to get my own work done for a change," she answers, poking a piece of chicken with her fork.

"You like those days," he comments, smiling. The wind picks up a little and he glances at the sky. _Was that thunder?_

The touch of her hand on his brings his attention back. "You seem distracted tonight," she observes, looking a little concerned.

"Do I?" he asks, blinking. He turns his hand to hold hers. "I might be, sorry. I thought I heard thunder just now."

"It's not going to rain," she says, waving her free hand. "Those clouds are moving east," she points to the right. "I bet it'll completely miss us."

He peers up at the sky again, deciding to use the weather as the excuse for his distraction. "You might be right," he replies, picking up his glass.

"Tell me about that big project," she prompts, squeezing his hand before removing it from his so she can continue eating her dinner.

It's a catered dinner, but he still went to a great deal of trouble to plan the picnic in his back garden. He chose her favorite foods, got her favorite wine, and even had the grass sprayed that morning to keep the bugs away as much as possible.

If only the weather would cooperate.

While Arthur tells her about the latest massive undertaking by Pendragon Industries, his eyes continue to glance skyward, and he swears the clouds are, indeed, moving straight towards them, despite Guinevere's assessment.

"That sounds amazing," she says, smiling at him. "Does your father—Ah!" she breaks off in a shriek as the skies open up and rain pours down, sudden and unrelenting, as though someone has opened a massive faucet over their heads.

"Leave it!" Arthur says, grabbing Guinevere's hand and pulling her towards the house. Her plate drops from her hand as she runs behind him.

It took them less than 30 seconds to get to the house, but they are both completely soaked through. They stare out of the patio doors at their ruined picnic, dripping on the tile floor.

"Oh, Arthur, I'm sorry," she sighs.

"It's all right. You didn't make it rain," he says, smiling at her. _At least the desserts are still in the fridge._

"But we'd hardly begun," she frowns.

He turns to face her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Go get dried off, and I'll order us some pizza," he says, reaching up to brush her wet hair from her face before kissing her forehead. "I'll get another blanket and we can picnic in the living room."

She smiles up at him. "All right. But be quick; you should change clothes, too."

He grabs a kitchen towel and quickly runs it over his dripping hair, then orders a pizza from the nearest place, bribing them to get their order to his house as fast as possible. He runs upstairs to get some dry clothes, skidding to a stop at the sight of Guinevere, standing there in her pajamas.

"They just looked so cozy," Guinevere says, sheepishly biting her lower lip. She has a small selection of clothing and personal items at Arthur's house, but has chosen her tank top and capri owl-patterned pajamas. "You weren't planning on taking me out anywhere, were you?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "You look perfect," he replies, reaching for a pair of soft cotton shorts and an old t-shirt. He generally sleeps in his underwear, but he'll make an exception. Because it's a special occasion.

Dried and dressed, wet clothes hanging in the bathroom, they head back downstairs, where Arthur decides to spread out another blanket on the living room floor in front of the fireplace.

"Here, let me build a fire for us," he says, grinning smugly as he flips the switch to turn on the gas fireplace.

"Oh, you're so rugged," she teases, leaning back on her elbows. The doorbell rings. "Wow, that was fast…" she comments, sitting up again.

"I… may have bribed them to push our order to the front," he admits, going to the door.

She just shakes her head, watching the place where he disappeared from view. While he pays the pizza man, she goes to the kitchen for plates, drinks, and napkins, realizing he hadn't gotten any. She glances outside and sees it is still raining quite heavily. She can just see the sodden remains of their picnic in the middle of the large garden. One corner of the blanket has blown over, folded up onto itself, covering some of the plates. She wonders if the wind will pick up enough to blow the whole lot away.

"Oh, thank you. I had forgotten," Arthur says, reappearing with the pizza box. He follows her back to the living room, and as he sits, he realizes he has _also_ forgotten the very important item in his pocket. Upstairs.

"I noticed," Guinevere replies, handing him a plate. She sits, angles her head at him, and asks, "Are you sure you're all right? You still seem… distant. You're not quite yourself." She reaches out and touches his hand, and he turns it and gives hers a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm fine, Love," he answers. _Just trying to figure out a reason to go back upstairs for ten seconds._ "A bit disappointed in the turn of the weather, but this is still quite nice. I still have you here with me, and that's all that matters."

She smiles. "We won't let a little water ruin our evening."

"Or a _lot_ of water," he adds, grinning. "Oh! Drinks!"

"I'll get them," she says. "You, um, serve the pizza, I guess," she adds, chuckling as she stands.

Normally Arthur would have protested, insisting on getting their drinks, but this time, he takes the opportunity to bolt upstairs, dig into his jeans pocket, and dash back down. He is just putting a slice of pizza on her plate when she walks in with two glasses.

Guinevere hands him his glass and sits back down. "All right," she says, sighing contentedly. She looks over at him and finds him watching her with a curious, anticipatory expression on his face. "What—?"

"I hope you like your pizza," he says. _Look at your plate look at your plate look at your plate._

Her brows furrow, puzzled, and she replies, "Okay. Thanks. I… hope you like yours, too… Oh!" Her eyes finally land on her plate and see a beautiful diamond ring sitting on top of her slice of pizza. She picks it up, wipes it with a napkin, and looks back up at him.

He's risen onto one knee. "Guinevere," he starts, reaching for her hand, "will you marry me? Will you be my wife?"

"Oh, Arthur," she sighs, tears in her eyes. "Yes, yes, I will." She lifts up onto her knees and throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Unprepared, he loses his balance and topples backwards, landing with a laughing, "Oof!"

She tries to get up, but he keeps her there and attempts to kiss her laughing lips. Unfortunately, he is also laughing, so she simply drops her head to his shoulder until they get themselves under control.

Then she lifts her head and gazes down at him. "I love you, Arthur," she says, then kisses him.

"Mmm, I love you, too, Guinevere," he murmurs against her lips, his hands sliding on her back, pizza momentarily forgotten.

"Oh!" Guinevere suddenly exclaims, lifting her head. "I almost dropped the ring," she giggles, finally moving off of him. She hands it to him, then offers her left hand.

Arthur smiles as he slides the ring over her fourth finger. He lifts her hand and kisses it. "This wasn't exactly how I had planned it," he says, running his thumb over the back of her hand, looking at the ring proudly perched on its new home.

"It doesn't matter, Arthur," she replies. "Is this what had you so distracted?

He nods. "Yes. I… I even had to run upstairs to get the ring out of my wet jeans while you were getting our drinks," he admits.

She laughs, then leans forward and kisses him again. "It was perfect. Every minute," she says.

"Well, we'll certainly remember it," he allows, laughing with her. "But we haven't eaten. Are you still hungry?"

"Starving," she says, reaching over for her plate and settling in beside him instead of across from him.

"Good, because I have dessert, too. Which was when I originally planned on proposing," he explains. "But I figured with the way things were going tonight… I'd better ask sooner rather than later." He takes a sip of his drink. "I was actually a little worried you were going to say no, considering how well everything else was going."

"There is no way on earth I would ever have said no, Arthur," she replies.

They finally eat their pizza, not even caring that it has gone cold. They are together, and that's all that matters.


	26. BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!

_Where is she?_ Arthur briskly walks through the corridors of the castle, looking for Guinevere. He walks quickly and with purpose, striving to look as though he is busy and not frantically searching.

He hasn't seen her all morning.

Merlin is away on some vague errand for Gaius, so he can't dispatch him to look for her.

Morgana is closeted in her quarters – alone, as is her preference – with _another_ headache, and he is not going to bother her because he does not fancy having a chamber pot flung at his head.

Gaius is busy with the latest epidemic in the lower town, so he can't ask him if he's seen her.

Arthur Pendragon is not having a good day.

_Maybe she's assisting Gaius._ He hopes not. He hates it when she helps the physician with things like this, because it exposes her to the illness she is helping to cure. And the last thing Arthur wants is for her to fall ill.

"Arthur, I've been looking everywhere for you," Leon's voice reaches him from down the corridor.

Arthur stops. "Is it urgent?" he shortly asks.

"Um, no. It's about the patrol shifts… there's a prob—"

"Sort it out," Arthur replies, cutting him off.

"Yes, my lord," Leon nods and walks away, puzzled.

_Oh, sod it all._ Arthur heads for his quarters, snatches his blue cloak, and sneaks out.

xXx

_She's gone!_ Arthur looks around Guinevere's small house, panic rising in his chest. Immediately, he begins searching, looking for clues as to who could have taken her.

The problem is, nothing seems out of place enough to be alarming. There are no marks on the door suggesting someone forced his way inside, no broken furniture, not so much as a candlestick knocked over.

_In fact…_

He stops, turning in place. Her bed is neatly made. The table is clean. There are no vegetables on the worktable; no sign of any food waiting to be prepared. He reaches his hand towards the fireplace and finds it still warm, but the ashes have been carefully spread. His heart starts racing again, but for a different reason.

He hasn't been inside her home often enough to know where she keeps everything, but he remembers seeing a basket on a side table. It's gone. He looks inside her wardrobe and finds it half-full. Her dresses are there, but her fur cloak is nowhere to be seen. He also doesn't see her riding boots.

_She hasn't been taken. She has _left_._

_ Why did she leave?_

He closes the wardrobe, then sits heavily on the bench, resting his head in his shaky hands as he struggles to come to terms with her departure.

Cruelly, the image of Guinevere bidding farewell yesterday to Gwaine flashes through his brain. Handsome, dashing, charming, _accessible_ Gwaine. Common-born Gwaine. _She _was_ quite friendly with him…_

_No. She wouldn't._

_ Would she?_

He drops his head onto the table as an even more disturbing thought pushes its way to the front of his brain. It's a thought that he has kept deep, deep in the back, under lock and key, buried deep, and now it bursts forth like an arrow from a crossbow.

_What if Lancelot came and asked her to go away with him?_

Arthur's day just got a whole lot worse.

xXx

He finds his way back to her house that evening, in the hopes that she has returned. His desperation for her makes him a little careless about disappearing from the castle without leaving word, but the prospect of life without his Guinevere is too much for him to bear.

He knows his father would not even notice her absence. Morgana (who only seemed mildly concerned to discover her longtime maidservant has gone missing) would fuss and bluster about; however, she would quickly find another handmaiden. But Arthur would be left alone, bereft of her unbounded kindness, quiet strength, beautiful face, and wise counsel. He would be a shell of a man; a man with no heart or soul.

He knows this because this is already how he feels.

He sits on the bench at her table again, this time facing her bed, trying to will the image of her leaning up to kiss Gwaine on the cheek out of his mind's eye.

He can smell her soft flowery scent in the small house. Can almost see her moving gracefully about. Her touch can be seen everywhere, from the way the blanket is folded on her bed – just like the beds in the castle, surely it is habit – to the bunches of herbs hanging near the window to dry.

He slams his fist down on the wood of the bench next to his leg, stands, and stalks from the house. The door closes with a bang, and he doesn't care who hears.

He didn't even bother with the cloak this time.

xXx

Arthur wakes the next morning with the urge to return to Guinevere's house, though he fears she is probably still gone. He takes his ire and frustration out on George, who bears it in his usual stoic fashion, which only serves to further irritate the prince.

He keeps his head down, his feet automatically taking him to her door.

He knocks. No answer.

Sighing, he pushes the door open and slips inside the empty house.

He looks around again, keen eyes still searching for clues. He notices the shutter is half-open on the one small window. The weather is threatening rain, so he walks over and closes it, securing the latch.

It's not until he finds himself thinking _I wouldn't want her things to get wet_ that it truly sinks in that it doesn't matter if her things get wet.

She's left them here.

_Just like she's left you here, Arthur._

Xxx

"Arthur, what on earth is the matter with you?" Uther chides him over lunch. Arthur hasn't paid attention to a single thing his father has said and has barely eaten.

"Feeling a bit under the weather," Arthur mutters. It's not entirely untrue. Guinevere's sudden departure does have him feeling sick. Sick, depressed, heartsore, and… angry. _She didn't even leave a message. Left without a word._

_She's gone. Morgana doesn't seem worried. Doesn't even seem to care that much. Merlin's not back yet, so I can't even send him to find her. Father would never let me go off in search of her._

_ I need to think of a reason to leave._

"Well, I hope it's nothing serious," Uther replies. Just as Arthur lifts his head, surprised at his normally-cold father's return, the king adds, "King Godwin and Princess Elena are due to arrive next week, and I can't have you getting ill humors all over our guests."

Arthur _hmphs_ and nods once, pushing vegetables around on his plate.

"When Gaius returns, I will have him sent to your chambers so he can make sure you haven't caught the latest fever that is going 'round," Uther says, then downs his goblet.

"Right," Arthur mumbles.

xXx

After dinner, Arthur tells his father he's going to see Gaius. He goes back to Guinevere's house. Although his stomach is knotted with anxiety over the mystery of her departure and the uncertainty of her return, he is unable to stay away.

_ Why do I keep coming back here? Why do I keep torturing myself? Why did she bloody LEA—_

The door opens and Arthur is startled from his thoughts. He leaps up, staring, wide-eyed, as Guinevere steps inside.

She looks up and smiles. "Arthur," she says, almost as if she was expecting to see him. Like everything is normal and fine and she _didn't_ just disappear for two days.

Her smile falls as she watches his shocked expression transform into something more sullen. Hurt.

"Where were you?" His voice is low and tremulous.

"I went—"

"Yes, you _went_ without so much as a goodbye! I thought you'd been taken again! But then I saw that the only thing _taken_ were your things… because you _left_!" Arthur's voice grows louder as he speaks, his emotions finally able to come spilling out.

"Arthur—"

"I was going out of my mind worrying and wondering…" He continues, softer but still impassioned, raking his hand through his hair. "Did I do something to upset you? Did you decide staying here was too… too hard? D-did you decide to go after… Gwaine?" He breaks off, unshed tears hovering in his eyes now as his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"What? Why would I go with Gwaine?" Guinevere asks, completely thrown.

"Why _wouldn't_ you go? Why wouldn't you go off and marry someone like Gwaine? You could, you know. There aren't any traditions or laws between you and someone like him. Or… or Lancelot…" The name hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and Guinevere realizes that was another thought he likely had: Lancelot had returned and she'd run off with him. "What's stopping you from just leaving?" His voice breaks, and she bites her lower lip and clasps her hands together to stop herself from throwing her arms around him.

"Do you truly not know why I stay?" she quietly asks, a tear slipping down her cheek.

"Sometimes, I wonder," he says, confused, hurt anger inexplicably rising again. "I wonder why you stay here, in this kingdom, after everything that's happened. I wonder why you don't just choose a simpler life with someone like… one of them… and leave me here to live out my miserable years alone!"

His words sting her, but his behavior is so perplexing that she pushes past it for now. "Arthur, I don't understand," she says, stepping closer to him. "Why are you so upset that I left?"

"Because you didn't even say goodbye!" he yells. "You left without a word, and I didn't know where you had gone and if you'd ever be back! I was beside myself with worry! I'm angry at you for leaving like that and I'm angry at myself because I kept coming back here even though I knew you were gone! I just couldn't stay away because I lo—" his voice breaks off just before he yells the words he's been holding in. He's been waiting for the perfect moment to actually say the words, and he'll be damned if he's going to shout them at her in a fit of pique.

She stares a moment, realizing what he has almost just said. She knows in the deepest part of her exactly what he just stopped himself from shouting at her and why. And while this realization made her heart leap, she is still in the dark about why he is so upset. "Arthur," she repeats his name, her voice almost a whisper, hoping he'll realize how loud he was getting. "I would never leave without an explanation," she says. "And certainly not forever, in any case. I would not do that to you."

"But you did," he insists, his voice quieter, but still cold.

Her mouth opens and her brows furrow. "I… I left you a note," she says, her eyes darting around the house, searching for it.

"What?"

She steps past him and places her fingers on the table. "It was right here…"

"There was nothing," he says.

She turns around, still hurt by his tone. "Do you think I'm lying to you?"

He sags. "No… I know you would never lie to me," he says. "But I saw no note, I promise you."

"I know I left it. I explained I was going to my friend Mary's in Longstead and would be back in a few days," she says, drumming her fingers on the table. "I left it here because I knew you would be worried. If I had time to get a message to the castle, I would have, but I had to leave very quickly, and with Merlin gone, I really didn't have anyone I could trust enough to… what is it?" she asks, watching as Arthur starts carefully looking around her small house.

He looks at the table, then the window, then the fireplace. "Your window shutter was open," he says.

"The latch doesn't always stay," Guinevere absently replies. "But…" she follows the path his gaze has taken. "Oh."

"It has been windy. And the embers were still warm enough to burn parchment," he confirms.

"Next time I'll find a large stone," she says, frowning.

"And hit me in the head with it," he dryly remarks.

"Well, I had intended it to be used to hold down the parchment, but..." she says, a small smile playing about her lips, relieved the mystery has been solved. "Will you sit and stay for a bit?" she asks, feeling they have a few things to discuss.

"Yes," he answers, sitting at her table and watching as she unpacks.

xXx

"I'm sorry, Guinevere," Arthur says once she's gotten everything put away. His voice is quiet and contrite, but he is still nursing his wounds.

"Thank you, Arthur," Guinevere replies, sitting opposite him. She folds her hands and places them in front of her on the table. "I understand now why you were so upset. But I want to tell you again that I would never just… abandon you like that."

He nods. "I know. In my head, I know you wouldn't. Unfortunately, I wasn't using it at the time," he says. "And I do know why you stay here in Camelot," he adds, slowly reaching across the table to take her hands in his.

"Good," she answers. "And Gwaine is charming and dashing, but he's not you. Lancelot is brave and kind-hearted, but he's not _you_, Arthur. I know that I _could_ go off and marry someone of my own station. But that doesn't mean that I _will_."

He smoothes his thumbs over the backs of her hands. They aren't the baby-soft hands of a princess or noblewoman. They are the work-roughened hands of a maidservant. The hands of a woman who knows that life isn't always easy or fair or clean or convenient. These hands have done things, important things, and he wouldn't hold another pair of hands in his own this way for anything in the world.

"I saw you bidding farewell to Gwaine," he admits. "Merlin and I were watching from the north wall."

"I see," she answers, nodding as she remembers how she laughed with him, touched him familiarly, and kissed his cheek before wishing him the best on his travels. _And then I leave the next day. No wonder he was beside himself._

"I… want to be able to be that at ease with you," he says, still staring at their hands. "Publicly, I mean. To be free to touch you," he rubs his thumbs on her hands again, "make you laugh like that… I so rarely hear your laugh, and to know that someone else has brought it forth, just…" he sighs, shakes his head, and moves on, not wishing to dwell on it. "To be able to feel your kiss on my cheek out in the street or in the halls of the castle or… _anywhere_… and to be free to kiss you whenever I wished…" He looks up at her, directly into her brown eyes. "You cannot have any of that with me. Not anywhere we would be seen, anyway." He curses his father for what feels like the millionth time in his young life.

"Arthur, I would like that, too, but…" she pauses, gathering her thoughts again, "but I wouldn't trade what _we_ have for anything. The few moments we steal, no matter how small or how private, are precious to me. I treasure them in my heart more than I treasure anything else. I… I've tried ignoring my feelings. I've tried denying them. I still don't know how—"

"I will find a way, Guinevere," he says, squeezing her hands. "I know I have no right to ask, but if you would but trust in me, I will find a way."

She meets his eyes and says, "I trust you, Arthur. I know that… that your father may have other ideas, but I will trust you."

He leans down and kisses her hands. "Thank you," he whispers, kissing them again.

Guinevere feels warm wetness on her hands and she realizes it is not from his kisses. She presses her lips together and fruitlessly attempts to blink back her own tears before saying, "I will not leave you, Arthur. Not willingly anyway. I need you to know this."

He lifts his head and nods once. "I do," he says. "As you have put your trust in me, I must also trust you."

She gently pulls one hand free and reaches across the table to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Oh, Arthur," she sighs, then stands and walks around the table.

He stands to meet her, pulling her into his arms. "It won't be easy," he murmurs into her hair.

"It seems nothing worthwhile ever is," she replies, pressing her cheek against his chest. "Especially with your father around."

He huffs a small, mirthless laugh, then pulls back a little. He drops a kiss on her forehead. "That is what worries me," he admits.

"Me, too," she replies, looking up at him. His arms are still around her. "It's getting late. You should get back before you are missed."

He nods, then drops his head and kisses her, deciding she is right. He will savor this moment in the privacy of her home. He will treasure it as he knows she does. Because even though they are not able to be together freely, they can still be together sometimes.

Arthur leans his forehead against Guinevere's for another moment, eyes closed. He opens them, lifts his head away just far enough to gaze into her brown eyes, and whispers, "I love you, Guinevere."

It is so soft that, for a moment, he thinks she hasn't heard him. But when she softly smiles at him and lifts her chin to kiss him again, he knows she has.


	27. Kiss Me to Hide Both Our Faces

Guinevere slides onto the bench in the corner of the crowded tavern, adjusting the scarf covering her head.

"Are you sure no one saw you?" Arthur asks from beneath the hood of his blue cloak.

"Yes. At least I'm fairly sure," she answers, sliding a little closer so she can see him. It is dark in their little corner. "I know Agravaine was occupied anyway. Merlin was very good about that."

"Mmm," Arthur nods, frowning. His uncle was less than pleased when he discovered Arthur had apologized to and renewed his relationship with "that handmaiden" after the debacle with Caerleon. Arthur simply reminded Agravaine who is King of Camelot, refused to hear another word against Guinevere, and left the older man fuming in his quarters.

Despite his show of authority, he and Guinevere thought it best to not flaunt their relationship in front of Agravaine, at least for a little while.

And since both Arthur's quarters and the street where Guinevere's home is are regularly patrolled and they never know who is trustworthy and who is not, they agreed to meet in secret.

The first time was in the forest, but Guinevere was uneasy the entire time. "I don't like the forest during daylight. I like it even less at night," she confessed. "I know you will protect me, but I hate to think that you might have to do so."

The second time was in Merlin's room, which felt awkward and wound up being a very short visit. After that, Merlin was no longer allowed to offer suggestions.

Arthur suggested this tavern on the edge of town. He knew of but did not frequent it, and had Merlin accompany Gwaine there the previous night to find out if it was an appropriate place for Guinevere.

"This place is… interesting," Guinevere comments, looking around a bit.

"It's cleaner than I was expecting," Arthur replies. "Oh. I procured us some drinks," he adds, indicating the two tankards on the table.

"Ale?" she asks, trying not to make a face.

"Mead," he answers. "It's sweeter. I know you don't care for ale. Would you have preferred wine?"

"No, mead is fine," she says, taking a sip. "I haven't often had it, that's all."

He smiles and takes a drink as well, then moves closer to her.

They talk for a while, discussing kingdom matters as well as lighter, more personal things. Guinevere notices none of the barmaids visit their table, and Arthur explains he gave the barman a few coins to ensure their privacy.

"Didn't he recognize you?" she asks, furrowing her brows.

He reaches up and caresses away the worried lines on her forehead. "No. I kept my face hidden. Growled at him a bit," he pauses while she giggles at his demonstration of the voice he used. "I don't have my rings on, and I'm even dressed plainly beneath this cloak."

"I'm still not sure meeting here was a good idea," she says. "I might be recognized as easily as you, in the lower town like this."

"Yes, but your being here would raise fewer questions," he responds.

"Possibly. I've never set foot in here before, least of all to meet a mysterious cloaked man," she replies, smiling a little. "In fact, I can probably count how many times I've been in any tavern on one… hand…"

"Guinevere?" Arthur asks, seeing her eyes widen. He also notices the noisy room has suddenly grown quiet. He follows the direction of her gaze and curses under his breath.

Agravaine has just walked into the tavern. He flips one side of his cape back, over his shoulder, and makes a show of removing his gloves as the barman hurries forward, bowing obsequiously. The chatter and bustle rises again as the patrons realize this fat, preening peacock is not as interesting as they had hoped he would be.

Guinevere grips Arthur's hand as they watch from their corner. Suddenly, it doesn't seem very secluded anymore.

"What if he's come looking for us?" Guinevere asks.

"Impossible," Arthur answers, but he doesn't sound completely convinced. "Merlin was under orders to tell him I was ill and did not wish to be disturbed."

"That won't stop Agravaine if he really wishes to see you," she says, watching as the lord slowly surveys the tavern, as though he is, indeed, searching for someone.

"Merlin can be surprisingly convincing when he needs to be," he replies, taking another drink of his mead. "Mm!" he exclaims, quickly setting his tankard on the table. He looks at Guinevere, eyes wide.

Agravaine is coming towards them.

"Arth—"

Her words are cut off as his lips seal over hers. She squeaks in surprise, then melts into the kiss. He pulls away for a split second, and she opens her eyes just long enough to see Arthur shift himself more fully in front of her, blocking her from view with his voluminous cloak. Hiding both of them.

He resumes kissing her a moment later, deeply, more passionately. Like he did that morning just over a week ago when he apologized to her with those sad, sweet purple flowers.

Purple flowers she has now saved by pressing them between sheets of vellum inside a thick book she borrowed from Gaius.

Arthur's hands slowly rove her back as hers clutch his tunic beneath his cloak, holding him close. Her heart is pounding in her chest, but she's not sure if it's from the kiss or the possibility of being discovered by Agravaine.

Perhaps both.

Her tongue meets his again and again, and they start to forget why they are kissing and just enjoy the opportunity they've been given to indulge themselves. The opportunity to be a man and woman in love instead of a king and a maid.

When Arthur finds himself leaning into her, over her, very nearly crossing that invisible line, he pulls away, exhaling heavily. He pecks her lips, leans his forehead against hers, and whispers, "Sorry."

She chuckles. "For what?" she asks, smiling at him. She kisses him, then leans back and peeks over his shoulder. "He's gone."

Arthur blinks. "Who is?"

"Arthur…"

He grins at her, and she can't stop her answering smile. He leans back, but pulls her against his side. "I did almost forget. _Almost._"


	28. For Science AU

"Oh, geez, just kiss already!" The exclamation came from Morgana, complete with an exasperated throwing-up-of-the-hands and eye rolling. She snorted, then stomped away, leaving Arthur and Guinevere alone and perplexed.

_Somewhat_ perplexed.

They had been bickering all evening. Bantering. Bickering. Banter. Bicker.

Everyone at the party had grown accustomed to Arthur and Guinevere's manner of interacting with each other.

Everyone at the party had _also_ grown weary of waiting for them to realize they were completely head over heels for each other.

But none more so than Morgana.

Merlin, having a much calmer demeanor, was content to roll his eyes and wait it out, confident that his best friend would eventually open his eyes and his _other_ best friend would eventually stop living in denial.

Leon and Percival tried the subtle route to try to help Arthur see his feelings. Gwaine told Guinevere in no uncertain terms that she was in love with Arthur.

Nothing.

For weeks, Morgana has been ready to take them each by the head and just push their faces into each other.

So when Arthur decided to have them all over to watch rugby and then spent most of the game either fawning over, teasing, or scowling at Guinevere, she decided she had had enough.

The game ended. Everyone pitched in to tidy up. When Morgana walked into the kitchen to find her half-brother bickering with Guinevere about where he keeps his _silverware_, she lost it.

"Oh, geez, just kiss already!"

Arthur and Guinevere jump, startled by the outburst. Neither of them had even noticed that she had come into the kitchen.

"What?" they both ask in unison, prompting another eye-roll from Morgana.

"You two. The UST in this house is unbearable. It has been forever, really. Just kiss or… _something…_ because you're driving the rest of us batty!"

"Morgana—"

Morgana rolls her eyes one more time, huffs a frustrated snort, then strides from the room. "Take me home." Her voice is distant but clear as she basically barks the order at Gwaine.

"Who's home, his or hers?" Arthur mutters.

"Yeah, I don't really want to think about the night they're going to have," Guinevere agrees.

A moment later they hear his front door close and realize the house has gone completely silent. "They all left," he says.

"Merlin is my ride," Guinevere says. "Merlin?" she calls. There is no answer. She looks back at Arthur. "He left me here." The _with you_ is not spoken, but the implication is there.

Arthur leans against the counter, letting Morgana's outburst sink in. Her words settle over him like a blanket as he studies Guinevere for a long moment.

Too long.

"What?" she finally asks, growing self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"Maybe we should try it," he suggests, truly noticing for the first time how attractive she is.

"Try what?" she asks, but she knows what the answer is. Her eyes involuntarily drop to his lips, and she wills them away from his enticing pout.

"What Morgana suggested," he explains, pushing away from the counter and moving towards her. Inexplicably drawn.

"Why?" she asks, inwardly cringing at how breathy her voice sounded.

He tilts his head to the side, still moving towards her. She backs up, but runs into the kitchen island. "For science," he says.

"Science?" she squeaks, looking up at him. He's very close, and she feels her body instinctively pulling towards him, like a magnet. She presses back against the hard countertop of the island.

His eyebrow quirks just slightly. "Yeah. You know, like… biology. Anatomy." He leans closer. "Chemistry." She continues to stare up at him, unable to move, and he backs off just slightly, realizing he'd gone from zero to sixty with no warning. "It's just a kiss, Guinevere," he says.

"I know," she answers. Her heart is trying to beat its way out of her chest.

"Just one kiss… just to see… if Morgana is right. Y'know, about… what she said," he says. Talking about it is making him lose his nerve; he was doing much better before he started _thinking_ about it.

Guinevere opens her mouth, closes it, then nods once, not trusting her voice.

Arthur moves closer again. He reaches up, lightly grasps her chin between his thumb and index finger, and tilts her face up to his. "You're very pretty, Guinevere." The words tumble out before he realizes he has said them. She doesn't shy away, so he swallows once, then leans down and presses his lips to hers, eyes drifting closed.

_Bliss._

He lifts his head too quickly, shocked by the flood of emotion that filled his body at the small, chaste kiss. When he opens his eyes, she is staring at him with a face full of wonder.

It is then he realizes he must look much the same. "I…"

"I think we need to try again." _Did I say that out loud?_ Guinevere bites her lip, waiting for his response to her wayward comment.

He says nothing, merely dips his head to hers again as though he was waiting for just that invitation.

This kiss is longer, less innocent. His hand slides around to support the back of her head. Her hands come up to rest on his chest.

"Morgana is insane," Arthur murmurs against her lips, his other hand snaking around her waist. A lie.

"Clearly," Guinevere agrees, her hands moving up to his shoulders. Another lie.

"We are simply," he pauses, pulling her body against his as he deepens the kiss, "friends."

"Good friends," she echoes, her fingers raking through his hair. "Oh…" she gasps as he moves lower to kiss her neck. "Just a friendly kiss between totally platonic mates… oh right there…"

"Mmm," Arthur briefly sucks at the spot he's found, then moves back to her mouth, wanting more of her delicious lips. "_So_ platonic," he mumbles just before he kisses her ardently, his tongue sliding against hers, his body melding into hers.

Suddenly, laughter begins bubbling up from deep inside them both. They don't know who starts first. It doesn't matter. But they are forced to abandon their newfound exploration in favor of giggling like idiots.

"So… _mate,_" Arthur says, weak with laughter, "what shall we do about this?"

"Well, _buddy,_" Guinevere giggles, "I am strongly in favor of continuing our research."

He stops laughing. "Is that so?"

She nods. "You know. For science."

"Indeed," he agrees, taking her hand. "Let me show you my laboratory."


	29. Massage

"I thought I'd lost you." A breathy, heartfelt declaration, whispered in his ear as she clung to his neck. He wrapped one arm around her, wishing to pull her into a full embrace but not daring to do so, not now, now here. Still, he couldn't help but tilt his head towards hers as he soaked in the unexpected affection that brought a slight smile to his exhausted face.

Guinevere felt so good with her arms around him Arthur didn't have the heart to tell her that he ached all over from his ordeal.

Still, she knew.

Merlin went off with Gaius. Arthur let him go. He had Guinevere by his side, her arm wrapped supportively around his waist without having been asked.

She is surprisingly strong.

"Do you need to report to your father?" she asks as they make their way up the stairs.

"Is he awake?" he returns.

"I heard he was going to stay up until your return," she answers.

"I will stop in to let him know I am alive," he sighs. "I'll give him the full report tomorrow."

"All right," she says, turning them towards the King's quarters. She senses his unease and adds, "I'll wait outside while you talk to him. Unless you want me to go ho—"

"No! I mean yes, please wait for me. I'll be but a few moments," he says as they reach Uther's door. He can see light coming from the crack at the bottom, so his father is indeed awake.

"I'll be right here," Guinevere promises, stepping into the shadows.

"Actually," Arthur says, rubbing the back of his neck, "would you meet me back in my quarters?" Her eyes widen a little and he adds, "I… I need some tending. Medically speaking, I mean." His cheeks flush as he clumsily tries to explain himself.

"Oh. Yes, of course. I'll gather some things and wait there for you," she says, smiling.

He reaches up and softly touches her cheek before turning back towards his father's doors.

xXx

The doors creak open fifteen minutes later and Arthur walks into his quarters to find them warm, clean, and inhabited by a beautiful and patient Guinevere.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he says, hobbling in. Her comforting presence warms his heart despite his exhaustion. "He wanted the full report anyway. I didn't tell him _everything,_ but enough to appease."

She had immediately stood when he entered and was at his side by the time he finished talking. "It's fine, Arthur, really. It gave me plenty of time to set a nice fire and get it going for you. It was quite chilly in here," she says. They stop near his bed. "Let me help you with your armor," she says.

He gives a silent nod and she sets to work. He doesn't say anything, doesn't give her any guidance, because he knows she knows his armor as well as he does. He simply allows himself to enjoy her gentle touch and skillful care.

In minutes, Arthur is standing in his shirt and trousers. Guinevere has even removed his boots, working with a quiet efficiency that makes him smile. "Merlin could learn a thing or two from you," he says.

She returns his smile and says, "Merlin does an excellent job serving you and you know it."

He nods again. "I do. I just… like to keep him sharp."

"Of course," she answers, bending to look at a bloody spot on his sleeve. "This isn't deep."

"You're humoring me," he replies, his eyes following her every move while she tends him.

"About Merlin?" she asks, moving to inspect his right shoulder, where his shirt looks a bit ragged as well. "Yes, I am."

Surprisingly, Arthur laughs. "I cannot keep anything from you, can I?"

Guinevere looks at him. "Do you wish to keep things from me?"

He tenderly touches her cheek. "Definitely not," he answers, his voice quiet.

She smiles again, a soft, shy smile, then plucks the sleeve of his shirt. "This needs to come off," she says, switching back to business. "It needs cleaning and mending. And so do you."

He reaches up to pull off his shirt and winces. "Ah."

"Let me help you," she says. "Your shoulder?"

He nods and allows her to help remove his shirt, sitting on the trunk at the end of his bed so she can more easily reach. She makes quick but careful work of tending his cuts and scrapes, using a pot of water she had sitting on the fire to warm. Thankfully, he needs no stitches.

She sets the pot and cloths aside. "Let's see about your shoulder," she says. "Um…" She bites her lower lip, then slips her shoes off and climbs up onto his bed to sit behind him. "Is this all right?" she asks. It feels very strange, sitting on the prince's bed. _Arthur's_ bed. She puts her awkward feelings aside and concentrates on Arthur's shoulder.

"Yes, it's fine," he answers, sighing when her warm, capable hands make contact with his skin. She prods gently, lifts his arm until he winces, and pronounces his shoulder neither fractured nor dislocated.

"I think it's just over-exerted," she says. "Let me see if I can…" her voice trails off as she begins massaging and rubbing his shoulder, her strong fingers seeking out the sore spots.

Arthur groans, dropping his head forward. "That's good," he says. "Mmm…"

She keeps her eyes trained on his shoulder, keeping her mind on her task. She's tended his wounds countless times, but they are rarely alone and _never_ alone in his quarters. If they are here, Merlin is usually with them, keeping the mood from turning too…

Too much like it's beginning to feel now. When her hands feel so good on him. When his skin feels so warm under her fingers. When they are completely alone in the dim light of his quarters. At night. Alone.

She clears her throat. "Tell me about what happened," she says, her voice a little too bright, too chipper.

"Yes," he answers too quickly, too eagerly. He begins telling her, trying to think about his journey with Merlin and the dragonlord instead of how close she is and how alone they are. He tells her everything he can recall, but realizes some parts concerning the dragon are a bit hazy. "Merlin said I dealt it a mortal blow, but… I think its magic knocked me out for a bit."

"Oh?" she asks. She'd been doing a good job of keeping her attention on his words, even feeling a pang of sadness at hearing about the mysterious dragonlord's death. "Why is that?"

"I remember striking the blow, but then I woke up and found myself alone with Merlin. That's when he said that I'd killed it," Arthur explains.

"The dragon was gone? Where did it go?" Guinevere asks. "Shouldn't its body have been lying there?"

"Well, it's a magical creature," he says, frowning. "Maybe it just…" he lifts his left hand and wiggles his fingers, making a "poof" noise. "Disappeared. Some do that. I mean they must, right?"

"I have no idea," she answers, finding a large knot with her thumbs that makes him hiss. "Sorry."

"No, that's good… keep at it," he says, his voice tight. "I guess I could ask Gaius if it's plausible that the dragon vanished when killed."

"Might be good, just for reassurance," she agrees. She bites her lower lip, eyes trained on his shoulder, staring at the jagged scars there from the Questing Beast. She takes a moment to trace one with her finger before going back to her task. "Arthur…"

"Yes, Guinevere?" His voice comes out lower and huskier than usual, her detour over his scar having momentarily scattered his thoughts.

She bites her lip, knowing she needs to tell him. She _wants_ to tell him. She knows it may be fruitless, but she cannot keep hiding how she feels. Not from him. "I was so worried about you. Out there. I… I always miss you when you are gone, but this time… this time I was more concerned than usual," she admits. "Going to fight men is one thing, but a dragon, well… that's something else entirely." Her voice is low and slightly tremulous. She takes a deep breath, ducks her head, and pushes her thumbs into that same large knot in his shoulder.

Arthur involuntarily groans when she presses that spot, but his heart leaps, then aches at her words. She's been a little distant since that day in her house when she sadly insisted she could not be his queen, so receiving the affirmation that she does indeed still care for him means worlds to him. "I know you worry, and I'm sorry. I hate causing you concern."

"Thank you, Arthur. I know you can't always stay away from danger. I understand it is your duty as the prince and a knight," she says, her hands briefly stilling again, palms flat on his skin.

"Guinevere," he replies, turning his head to look at her. "I want you to know that I _always_ think of you when I am gone. Remembering you are waiting here for me is sometimes the only thing that keeps me going when everything looks bleak."

His words draw a small gasp from her lips. "Truly?" she asks.

He turns further, just enough to catch her hand in his. He kisses the back, then turns it to kiss her palm. "Yes," he confirms. "Thank you, Guinevere."

"You're welcome. Feel better?" she asks, misunderstanding the reason he is thanking her.

"Yes, but that isn't why I was thanking you," he clarifies, turning to fully face her. He takes both her hands in his. "Thank you for being you. For always supporting me, even when we are apart. For being brave enough to tell me when I'm wrong," he pauses, smiling a little at this. "For staying up to meet me tonight when Merlin and I returned."

"Oh," she softly replies, smiling. "You're welcome, Arthur. I…"

He leans over and sweetly kisses her lips, stopping whatever she was going to say, but also stopping himself from bursting forth with promises he isn't certain he can keep.

Not yet.


	30. Found a Kitten

Guinevere saw the knights' party approaching from her window. Arthur and the men had been gone for four days, a day longer than expected.

She grabbed her heavy cloak and dashed out of the royal chambers to meet them in the courtyard, her surprised maid trailing after her.

The weather has been growing colder as autumn slowly made its way to winter. Most of the trees have lost their leaves and snow was still a ways away, but the queen knows better than to dash outside with no cloak, homecoming or no.

The sounds of hooves on stone greet her as descends the stairs, her face breaking into a broad grin when she sees her husband. He returns her smile immediately, spurring his tired horse to a reluctant trot.

When he dismounts, she is right there and he immediately draws her into his side, tucking his cold face into her warm neck.

"Arthur!" she squeals, but he only burrows further. She tries to move to fully hug him, but he twists out of her grasp.

It is then she hears it: a small mewling sound. An _unmistakable_ feline squeak.

"Arthur?" she asks, pulling away.

"I missed you, Guinevere," he says, kissing her. The tiny mew comes again.

"I missed you, too, but… your cloak is meowing," she says, lifting the edge.

"Ah… about that…" he says, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a tiny gray kitten.

Before Guinevere can say anything, she sees Gwaine walk past with a kitten in each hand. One is black and the other is just a shade darker than the one Arthur has. Percival has a black kitten with white paws riding on his shoulder. Just when she thinks Leon is the only one who had not completely lost his mind, he takes a lighter gray kitten from Elyan, who was also holding two.

"What kind of mission was this?" she asks, laughing.

Arthur rubs his kitten, and the tiny thing begins purring. Loudly. "One that came with an unexpected surprise," he says. "We found them." Gwaine clears his throat. "_Gwaine_ found them. They were in a cloth bag on the river bank."

"Oh, no," Guinevere gasps, her hands covering her mouth.

Arthur nods. "They were wet, but alive. Well, all except one," he frowns. "So whatever heartless beast decided to drown them all did a very poor job of it." He lifts the kitten in his hand up to eye level. "Good thing, too."

Guinevere surveys the men standing before her. "Do any of you know how to properly care for a kitten? These don't even look old enough to have been weaned."

"I do, my lady," Percival says. His kitten is now curled into a ball, asleep on the large man's shoulder. "We will be taking them to the stables to see if any of the stable cats have recently given birth. They may be able to spare some milk. Otherwise, we will have to bottle feed them goat's milk."

She smiles, remembering Sir Percival was raised as a farmer's son and likely had several cats around. "Well, then. Off you go."

"Um, Guinevere," Arthur says, absently rubbing his kitten behind the ears, "Do you have any colored yarn? I should like to identify which one is mine so when he… or she is old enough I can bring him… or her into the castle." The other knights nod their agreement.

"Oh dear," she sighs, only a little surprised Arthur wants to keep his as a pet instead of letting it help keep the mice from eating the food stores. "Yes, come with me," she says.

xXx

"Percival, can you tell if they're male or female?" Gwaine asks. "You know, so we can give them appropriate names."

Elyan snorts, and Percival deadpans, "Surely you know the difference between a male and a female, Gwaine."

"Shut it, you," Gwaine nudges the other knight with his elbow as his hands are still full of kittens.

"Here," Percival holds out his hand and Gwaine passes him the black kitten. Percival flips it on its back and checks. "Female," he says, trading it for the other. He laughs. "Also female."

"What's yours?" Gwaine asks.

"Male. I'm calling him Boots on account of his white feet," Percival answers. His kitten is currently with Guinevere, getting a length of purple yarn tied around its neck to identify him.

Percival identifies all the kittens. Arthur's is a male with a red yarn, and he calls him Smokey. Elyan's gray kitten gets a yellow yarn and is also male. He dubs him Striker, bringing a wistful smile to Guinevere's face.

"A striker is a blacksmith's assistant," she explains. "Elyan was Father's assistant."

"For a short time," Elyan adds, looking a bit sheepish.

Leon's is a female that he calls Sky because her gray fur matches the overcast day. She has a white belly and one white foot. Guinevere gives her a blue yarn.

Gwaine's kittens get green yarns and he names them Rosalie and Hazel. He refuses to explain why.

xXx

Guinevere was skeptical about keeping a cat in the royal chambers, especially a freshly-weaned kitten. But Smokey adjusted just fine to indoor life. He kept rodents and insects away, which was a bonus. Guinevere made him his own pillow on which to sleep to discourage him from joining her and Arthur on their bed. He used it. Mostly.

Merlin wasn't thrilled about having another body after which to clean up, especially the litter pan, but he kept his complaints to a minimum. Especially because Smokey seemed to like Merlin very much. "It's hard to dislike something so innocent," he had confessed to Gaius. "Sometimes I wonder if he, you know, _knows._ About me."

"They say cats can sense things, Merlin," Gaius had replied. After that Merlin was careful to treat the cat with nothing but kindness.

The gray kitten did enjoy waking his master, which also warmed Merlin to him. He rarely had to gingerly poke his king on the shoulder, worried about incurring his wrath. Smokey had already done the hard part, and more often than not, Merlin would find Arthur lying awake with a cat on his chest, Guinevere curled against his side, sometimes still asleep.

xXx

"Mmm… why…?" Arthur murmurs, feeling tiny paws land on his shoulder. The stamping and kneading is accompanied by a surprisingly loud purr, and a moment later, Smokey's head butts into Arthur's face. "Fine, I'm up…" he mumbles, opening his eyes.

He gives the cat a gentle stroke, then looks over at his sleeping wife. "Why don't you ever bother her?" he quietly says, scratching him behind the ears now.

"_Your_ cat." Guinevere's muffled voice sounds as she turns on her side, facing away from him, and snuggles deeper into the blankets, hiding from the cold of what is now full winter.

Her backside pushes against him and he fondly rubs the curve of her hip with his free hand. Smokey settles in on Arthur's chest, slowly blinking once before closing his eyes in contentment. Arthur sighs and follows suit, closing his eyes again, hoping to maybe catch a little more sleep before Merlin comes in. Or at least until the sun is fully up.

He dozes a little, but is roused by Smokey's purring twice before he finally gives up with another sigh. Guinevere turns over and snuggles into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Should I purr as well?" she asks, her voice sleepy but full of mischief.

He kisses her forehead, "Oh, I can make you do much more than purr, my love…" he murmurs, nuzzling her temple. He has one arm around her, and it begins to wander.

"Arthur, you have a cat on you," she reminds him, but then she kisses his neck and wraps a leg around one of his.

"I'll move him," Arthur says. Just as he reaches up to remove Smokey to the floor, they hear the doors open.

"And then there is Merlin," Guinevere sighs.

"Merlin," Arthur calls.

They hear him stop walking. "Yes?"

"Come back in thirty minutes," Arthur says. He looks down at Guinevere. "Make it an hour."

There is a pause. "Yes, my lord." Another pause. "I'll just… leave the cat's food then, shall I?" he adds, trying very much to sound like he doesn't know exactly why he's being dismissed.

"Thank you," Arthur answers.

As soon as Smokey hears his plate hit the floor, he bounds down.

As soon as Arthur hears the doors close again, he grabs Guinevere's waist and pulls.

She yelps softly and giggles as she finds herself straddling him.

"An hour, you say?" she asks, leaning down to kiss him.


	31. Mistletoe

Arthur walks down the corridor, reading over the speech he is trying to memorize for the Winter Solstice feast. It's been a very busy day and he knows he shouldn't be reading while he walks, but he has no time to spare. He glances up for just a second as he reaches a corner, but he is so focused on the words in front of him that he doesn't see Guinevere.

Or the mistletoe that someone has hung there.

"Oof!" she exclaims, nearly dropping the basket of herbs she is carrying. A few dried branches tumble out, but she maintains her grasp.

Arthur reaches out and lightly grasps her elbows, parchment tumbling to the floor. "Guinevere! I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he apologizes, letting his hands linger since they are alone in the corridor.

"It's all right, Arthur, you didn't hurt me," she answers, a small, sweet smile crossing her face as she looks up at him, then down again.

"I was trying to learn my speech for tonight's feast," he explains, looking down at the fallen parchment. "It's… down there."

She looks down and, out of a habit ingrained in her due to working many years as a servant, automatically moves to pick it up.

Arthur stays her movement, holding her arms, his thumbs lightly rubbing.

"_I_ will pick it up," he asserts. "In a minute."

Guinevere looks up at him, feeling the usual anxiety she feels whenever she is alone with him out in the open. She hasn't gotten to see him very much lately, what with Uther frequently sending him out to lead search parties to find Lady Morgana, so she treasures these moments. But even though she has stopped denying her feelings for him, there is the constant worry of discovery.

"Just one," she says, smiling to soften the blow. He returns her smile and caresses her cheek, and she knows he understands. Then her eyes flit slightly higher as something catches her eye overhead. Her breath catches in her throat.

Arthur follows her line of sight and sees it overhead: a bundle of mistletoe, tied with a red ribbon. "Mistletoe," he says in a low voice. "That's… that's a Druid tradition. How did it…?"

"I don't know," she replies. "There are still berries on it," she observes.

"So there are," he agrees, reaching up to pluck one. He flicks it back over his shoulder, then leans in.

"We can't," she whispers, eyes darting around, checking for other people.

"But I've already picked a berry," he replies, not moving away but not moving closer.

She bites her lower lip. "I mean we _shouldn't_," she clarifies. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just—"

His eyes light up at her admission. "We're simply upholding the tradition," he simply states. "I mean, if anyone _were_ to happen upon us, we can easily point to the mistletoe someone has foolishly hung." He makes a mental note to have Merlin take it down before his father sees it.

Guinevere's shoulders relax and Arthur knows his logic has worked. He leans down the rest of the way and she lifts her chin to meet him in a kiss that is brief, but not _too_ brief. To Guinevere, it feels like a promise, and she keeps her eyes closed for a moment afterwards, stealing the chance to savor it for a little longer.

The sound of approaching footsteps reminds them of where they are and they gently separate.

"I look forward to hearing your speech, my lord," she says, her voice soft.

"Arthur?" The approaching footsteps belonged to Sir Leon, and Arthur turns to meet him. The two men briefly converse, and when he turns back to retrieve his fallen parchment, Guinevere is nowhere to be seen. Arthur thoughtfully looks up at the mistletoe one more time, smiles, then continues on his way, no longer caring if he gets every word of his speech correct.

-End-


End file.
